


Closet of Eternal Sorrow

by veredgf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Drama, F/M, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veredgf/pseuds/veredgf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully is having a hard time after losing a patient - as time goes by, she slowly spirals out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> Story takes place before the events of "I want to believe". Medical reference is based on Google, Wikipedia and too many Medical TV shows.
> 
> Disclaimer: The X-Files belongs to 1013 and Chris carter. I am here to cause only suffering and pain to my fave characters.

Dr. Dana Scully peered through the room's glass window. The child in the bed appeared to be asleep. Her tiny bald form seemed to almost disappear amidst the bulk of her coverings and the various tubing protruding from her.

Scully remembered the first day she met Brylee. It was over a year ago. Brylee was five then, a feisty five, filled with exuberance and unable to stand at one spot for more than a couple of seconds. She was short for her age, but what she lacked in height, she made up with her impressive personality. She was sharp and witty, and Scully thought she was probably of above average intellect.

She recalled how Brylee used to dash through the hospital halls in those early days, before treatment began. She would smile at the sound of the young girl's voice screeching through the corridors, informing the staff that Brylee was about to arrive, and soon after she would be sprinting right into Scully's arms. Scully would cup the child's pointed chin in her hands and ask her about her day and Brylee was delighted to get somebody's full attention and she was eager to share every single detail.

Brylee was diagnosed with Neuroblastoma after her doctor noticed she was extremely pale and treatment for her anemia wasn't working. She was referred to Scully who had treated a number of children with the same condition and although Brylee's cancer was hard to treat, Scully was optimistic. Brylee seemed to be in the early stages of the illness and aside from her pallor, she appeared asymptomatic. But, despite high hopes and great efforts, the child declined rapidly over the year of treatment, and the once lively blond girls who roamed the oncology department halls, had become bedridden and stripped of even the most basic capabilities as the disease spread through her tiny body.

The final scans and lab results had left Scully no choice. Brylee's short life had reached its final stages. It was up to Scully to inform her mother of her daughter's upcoming demise.

Scully's gaze wandered across the room and landed on a huddled form, folded within itself. Miranda Sanders slept uncomfortably on a hospital bedside chair, her head tilted to the right, seemingly about to break apart from the woman's neck. Scully imagined how stiff she would be once she woke up. She knew Miranda was having back pain from her continued vigil over her daughter. The mother never said a word, but Scully would see her constantly rubbing the small of her back, attempting to untwist her shoulder blades or pressing firmly on the back on her neck, trying, in vain, to untangle her taut muscles.

It was time. Scully couldn't stall any further. She'd been trying to find a way out, a hint of hope for Brylee all through the week, but as the tests and scans amounted, she found herself constantly hitting dead ends. Whichever approach she took, she eventually ended hitting another obstacle, and then another, and another. Brylee's body was riddled with metastases, and they weren't responding to any of the treatments. She'd spent endless hours in the lab, trying to figure out a solution, but she finally had to admit defeat.

She heaved in a deep breath and pushed the door handle as she entered the sick child's room. The strong antiseptic smell attacked her nostrils. She was supposed to be used to it, but today her senses felt heightened than usual. She knew it was due to the fact that she was about to inform a mother that her child was dying. She worked with lost causes and she knew the consequences but it never became easier. Whenever she had to deliver a death sentence, she felt as if she was the one who was tying the noose around the child's neck, and the one who was pushing the stool from under him or her. At that moment, her senses became the sharpest. Every sound amplified, every smell intensified. Her vision was like a hawk's, catching the tiniest changes in a person's skin complexion as the news hit him or her. The sensation of touching a grieving parent would feel like an electric current coursing through her veins, eventually reaching her heart and she could feel each heartbeat as if it were lava eruptions from a volcano.

Despite her intense bodily reaction, she would keep an almost cool façade. It was a testament to the control of her mind over her body. She would know just the right amount of emotion she needed to express in front of the parents. She would never commit to her true emotions, she would never lose control. She would allow just a tiny dampness to appear in the corner of hers eyes, she would have a minor crack in her voice. Every detail of remorse was calculated. Nothing was left to chance. Nobody would know how deeply she felt about the loss of her young patients. Nobody.

She gathered herself as she approached the sleeping mother. As she stood before her, about to destroy all shred of hope in the woman's life, Scully remembered their first conversation.

_"Ms. Sanders, my name is Dana Scully. I will be treating Brylee. I'm very hopeful about her prognosis. With aggressive treatment, I believe we can beat this disease."_

Miranda was more than grateful. To Scully's surprise, the short petite woman stepped up to her and encompassed her with her arms. Her embrace was so strong; Scully feared she would stop breathing. Parents did embrace her, it wasn't uncommon, and yet Miranda's reaction did take Scully by surprise and she had to fight to keep her mental balance and not to shudder at the immense show of affection bestowed upon her by somebody who was basically a total stranger.

Soon after they had moved to first name basis. It was then that Miranda began trying in earnest to find ways to show her gratification to Scully. She'd leave her little trinkets; a cup of coffee in the morning, decaf and low fat soy milk, a tiny plant for her office (a collection of herbs), a beautiful blue scarf that complemented Scully's eyes. Scully felt very uncomfortable and as Brylee's health began to take a down turn, she felt far worse. The sicker Brylee got, the more gifts Miranda left, as if believing that her offerings to her medical Goddess would change the outcome. Scully found out that the bewildered mother was snooping around, trying to learn as much as she could about her child's physician so that she could find the appropriate gifts for her. Scully didn't make her life easy, being the private person that she was. Miranda was tenacious, but Scully managed to keep her at bay. She never found out where she lived, or with whom she was living and she had no clue regarding her illustrious past.

Some of Miranda's latest gifts took a strange twist. She would leave self-made dolls on Scully's desk that gave her the creeps. She didn't know exactly why. There was nothing logical about her feelings. It was just that all the dolls looked like little Brylees. Some were even dressed in clothes Scully distinctly recalled Brylee used to wear. The dolls resembled Brylee before her illness; some with lose blond bangs, some with braids or two pony tails. Each doll with an over exaggerated smile and huge bulging blue eyes. Scully would have preferred to get rid of them, but not wanting to offend Miranda, she'd kept the dolls in her room nicely bunched on her side cupboard. She began avoiding her office as more dolls were added to the collection. She had the strange feeling that the dolls were staring at her, as if they were trying to affect her and force her into curing Brylee. She tried to brush away the ridiculous notions, thinking to herself that she had had too much of Mulder in her head, but to no avail.

One such freaky doll was currently perched on Brylee's bed, glaring at Scully, almost as if it were taunting her. She resisted the urge to turn the doll facedown and averted her gaze. Her eyes now fixed on Miranda as she stood beside her. It had to be now. She wasn't sure she could hold on to her controlled appearance much longer.

She bent down slightly and tapped ever so gently on Miranda's hand. "Miranda?"

"What?!" the mother bolted upright with impressive speed, almost colliding with Scully's chin.

Scully managed to avoid the collision with Miranda's skull at the very last second. She quickly regained her equilibrium as she spoke softly. "I'm sorry. We need to talk. Can we talk outside?" She had to get her out of Brylee's room. The girl was receiving heavy doses of morphine, suitable for end stage cancer. She was mostly out of it, but she still had some lucid moments and sometimes sedated patients heard people talking next to them. Scully couldn't take the chance that the child would happen to overhear this conversation.

Miranda stared into Scully's eyes and Scully forced herself to keep a steady gaze. Her internal voice screamed for her to avert her eyes but her ever controlling logic saved her from behaving in an awkward manner. She was a fully-fledged professional. Nobody would ever suspect otherwise.

After what seemed like an eternity, the ragged looking mother slowly rose from the uncomfortable hospital chair and walked out of her daughter's room. Scully forced herself to keep in the relieved sigh she was holding as she followed her.

"Dana?" Miranda stared directly into Scully's eyes. Both women were of that same short build, although Dana Scully did wear high heels that gave her a slight advantage.

"I'm sorry Miranda—" Scully began, but as she'd expected, she wasn't able to finish her sentence. She'd taken that into account. She'd used just the right tone that made sure the parent in front of her got the message and Miranda was right on cue.

"NO!"

"Brylee hasn't been improving and the last tests show that the cancer had spread to her brain. I've tried everything in my power but I'm afraid we have reached the end of the line."

Miranda was sobbing heavily. She didn't hold anything in. What little makeup she had put on that morning had begun to mix with the flow of warm tears trailing along her cheeks, her skin turned puffy and red, her cries of terror and anger and sadness all mixed up into a terrible wail. She fell onto Scully, her face burrowing into the petite doctor's shoulder, her lament now muffled, but still quite audible.

Scully gently put her arms around the sobbing mother. She didn't crush her, but she made sure her embrace was registered. She waited patiently for Miranda to collect herself. There was a process to endure and it was almost ritualistic. Scully had practiced it too many times and she was well trained. She didn't stir. It was up for the grief stricken parent to make that move. Her part was essentially done. She just served as a wailing wall, accepting the pain and sorrow of parents engulfed by loss.

Scully expected Miranda to follow the pattern. Things were indeed going as planned. Gradually Miranda seemed to calm down. The audible cries gave way to quiet sobs that shook the mother's body as well as Scully's until the shaking too, died. Scully waited patiently for the next step. Detachment. Miranda was supposed to break away from Scully and go back to her daughter. Scully knew that usually at this stage the parent would withdraw within oneself and begin the process of acceptance.

So it was almost shocking for Scully when Miranda didn't stick to the program. She slowly pulled herself away from Scully but instead of walking back to her daughter's room she looked up and stared sharply into Scully's eyes and what Scully saw in her expression made her cringe inwardly. There was fierce hatred and unabated anger pouring out of them. "You promised she would be alright." Miranda said quietly and the low tone of her voice felt so ominous, Scully had to fight her reflex to run away.

"I know. I thought I could." She wanted to say she was sorry, but she knew better. It was pointless.

Miranda turned around and went back into her daughter's room. Scully remained standing in the hallway, unable to move. Miranda's extreme reaction was still lingering in the air. Scully could feel her heart begin to beat faster. She felt upset. Her façade was cracking. Tears began to well up in her eyes and throat. _No!_ There was no way she was going to break down right outside the dying girl's room. She felt herself moving. She walked as fast as she could. She would have run, but running in a hospital meant an emergency and it drew attention. At the end of the hall there was a tiny empty closet she had used for just these moments, when she wasn't able to contain herself and had to let her controlled façade lose. She'd even nick-named her tiny place of recluse _'The Closet of Eternal Sorrow'_. She was about to burst into a fully blown crying fit by the time she had reached the closet door. She tried to push the handle down only to be rewarded by it refusing to be pushed. To her utter horror her safe house was locked. It took all her emotional power to hold back her tears a bit longer as she hopped over to the nurses' station and informed the charge nurse that she wasn't feeling too well and had to go home.

She couldn't recall how she arrived at her car. Her feet carried her as if on their own volition. She was like a patient rolled on a gurney, unaware that he was being moved around. She was putting all her mental efforts into keeping her emotions at bay. As she traversed the parking lot, she still kept her meager control. She had to have some distance before she could let herself completely go.

Two Miles out on the road and her tiny Ford Fiesta filled up with cries that could move mountains. Dana Scully knew how to let go when nobody could see her. Finally she could take off the shackles of control and scream her heart out.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny timeline note - I've decided to ignore a tiny canon bit regarding the second movie because it was somewhat botched up anyway - so for this story's sake Mulder isn't a fugitive wanted by the FBI two years prior to the movie. The reason being that in the end of the series, he was actually wanted by the army... so if they can ignore continuity, I have decided I can too... (just a wee bit).
> 
> OK, on with the story.

Fox Mulder heard the sound of a car approaching the driveway. He could tell it was Scully. Her 2002 Ford Fiesta engine had a recognizable ring to it, and he could easily distinguish it from the delivery vans that frequented their home on a daily basis.

Despite all curtains being drawn, Mulder could tell that Scully had come home early. It was highly irregular as she usually didn't get home till the late hours of evening during her day shift. She always did overtime and even when she was sick, she'd make the effort to come in, if only to keep up with her lab work, since she couldn't be around the sick during those days.

His curiosity was definitely piqued. What would make Dr. Dana Scully stray from her beloved place of work at such an early hour?

As he noted the sound of her boot steps hitting the front deck, he swiveled quickly in his chair and made sure his back was facing the entrance. He heard the jingle of her keys as she unlocked the door and he waited quietly for her to address him.

"Hey," she sounded breathless and raspy.

Mulder immediately knew she'd been crying. He knew that he should ask her what had happened. He knew that was the right thing to do. That's what he used to do. But he wasn't that guy anymore and since she'd made the choice to keep him in the dark about her feelings for so long, he didn't feel she deserved his interest now. She'd managed so far without his help, she can continue without it.

He heard the front door closing behind her and he could tell she was still standing there as if expecting a reaction from him. He chose not to completely ignore her, but he wasn't going to address what had brought her home this early in the day, even though he was curious.

He gave her a casual wave of his hand, acknowledging her presence, then he put his headphones back on and resumed the YouTube video he'd been watching prior to her arrival. He did however turn down the volume and he could hear the exasperated huff she let out as she trudged past him and headed for the bathroom.

Despite trying hard to ignore his life-partner's state, he couldn't help wincing at the sound of the slamming bathroom door. It wasn't usual Scully behavior. This woman was a stickler for rules and proper conduct. Slamming doors was a big no-no in the so called 'Scully bylaw manifest'. The other big no-no was related to her crying at home. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her cry. He gave it some thought and realized she'd stopped crying at his presence soon after they'd gotten to New Mexico. She'd become this automaton. When did he realize this? He recalled making a note to himself regarding the change in her demeanor a few months after they'd moved into the cabin in the woods. At some point he noticed she wasn't sharing things with him anymore. She stopped talking about work and soon after she gave up talking to him altogether. It was like she was devoid of all emotion, which of course he knew was bullshit, but he understood that as far as he was concerned, Scully had chosen to keep him in the dark regarding her frame of mind. A strange notion considering they lived together.

But today, this, supposedly, unemotional woman was having what he could only described as a crying fit, a fully-fledged one, complete with ceremonial retching. Yes, she tried to muffle her sobs, but the small cabin was usually so quiet that even the slightest of sounds seemed like a bellowing horn in comparison. Mulder forced himself to stay put. If she wanted him to help her, she would have to ask for his help. He was not going to approach a woman who made every possible effort to keep him out of her emotional life.

The gentle whooshing sound of a door being opened informed Mulder that Scully's meltdown was over. He didn't look up, but he could hear that the cold rational woman was back in control. There was something about her stride. It wasn't confidence so much as that he could tell how each of her steps felt calculated. She padded to their walk-in closet and soon after the telltale sounds of coat hangers being shoved aside could be registered as she changed her clothes.

Now he noted a different sound in her step. She had switched from boots to her running shoes. _Of course._ She was heading out. She couldn't spend too many hours cooped in with him in their cramped cabin. The more space between them the better. _Yes, Scully. Go. It's better this way._

* * *

Scully shook her head as she slowly shut the door behind her. She'd been worried how Mulder would react to her coming home in such a state. Boy! Was _she_ wrong. He didn't give a shit! She could have come in covered in blood and he wouldn't have even noticed. As she strode down the front porch steps and began her casual walk into the surrounding woods, she wondered how it had all come to this.

She welcomed these thoughts as they distracted her from her ordeal at the hospital. Possibly she even welcomed this uncaring and very non-supporting Mulder. Indeed she was surprised at his disinterest, but it certainly made things a lot easier for her.

She'd made up her mind a while back, that Mulder needed a peaceful environment if he was to keep calm and sane; so when she noticed her pain was hurting him, she forced herself to keep her emotions in check. Over time she'd added more unwritten rules to her 'keep Mulder sane' book – she wouldn't slam her hands on a table, she wouldn't curse, she wouldn't wallow in self-pity, nor would she discuss their previous life with him. At first imposing these self-made guidelines upon herself was extremely hard, but soon after, keeping herself bottled up had become like second nature. The sad part was, Mulder had been the only person she truly felt free to confide in and now without his support, despite being surrounded with people, Dana Scully felt all alone.

She reflected back upon their life since she'd left the FBI. At first things were very bad. They were fugitives. They were living in hiding, fearing for their lives. Both of them were emotional wrecks. She was still grieving the loss of her son. He was suffering from severe PTSD and was having a hard time separating hallucination from reality. At the time she had thought that as they were back together they'd be able to cope. It took her about a year to realize that she had been wrong, but by then she couldn't turn things around. Their lives had become so intertwined once again and he had become fully dependent on her.

Being a medical professional, she had no problem securing a job at a local clinic under an assumed ID. It was a low profile job but it provided the income they needed to survive during their exile. She'd be out most of the day treating stuffy nosed kids and elderly ladies with various non-life threatening conditions while Mulder remained secluded from the world within the minuscule apartment they were renting. His condition got worse. He hardly ever slept and when he did, his sleep was riddled with nightmares. During the day he'd wander back and forth talking to invisible counterparts. He'd yell at them, he'd confide in them, he'd make plans with them and so on and so on. Some days he was so lost in his imaginary world that he didn't even register her presence.

Mulder's worsening condition had a heavy impact on her own mental being. She felt herself being dragged into the darkness with him. She knew they could not afford to lose their only income but she found she was forcing herself to get out of bed every day just because she was scared for their livelihood. She had no appetite most days, and despite the unhealthy diet of tacos and enchiladas', she lost weight, as she didn't eat more than a few bites per meal. She had fainting spells and dizzy spells, her mind would go blurry and it was taking its toll on her work. She had to find a way to get Mulder better or they'd both end up on the streets.

Eventually she chose to spend some of their mingy income on Prozac which she got from the black market and she began administering to Mulder. At first she would mix it with his food and drink as he was too paranoid and she knew there was a good chance he wouldn't agree to any form of medication. When he started to calm down, she confided in him. To her surprise, he took it well and agreed to keep on taking the drugs.

Scully was amazed at how things had turned around. Not only did his anxiety and nightmares disappear, he was now able to carry his own weight. He was once again a functional member of society. Three months after he began taking the antidepressant, and he was able to work. More so – he _wanted_ to work and it didn't have to be related to an X-File. He settled for English teaching, giving private lessons from home. In return, he got to learn Spanish. His was pretty abysmal up until then.

Scully sighed as she remembered those days. In essence they were living like a normal couple. Each had their work during the day, and when she came home they spent time in each other's company. But something was missing. Mulder seemed fine. He was sleeping well, eating well, teaching children and even working out on a daily basis. It took her some time to figure out why she felt unhappy with this situation. One day it dawned on her; he just wasn't the Mulder she used to know. The drug saved him from himself but it also took away his personality. Mulder was never the type to sit back and be content with a normal life. The Mulder she knew would have made every effort to return and fight whoever was trying to kill them. The problem was that he was so damaged, there was no way he would be able to function off the SSRI and he couldn't get any therapy where they lived.

She realized that she would have to accept this new dull Mulder if she was to save him and probably herself. It was an acceptable price to pay, but it was hard on her. He would sit next to her on the sofa, telling her about his day but nothing he would say would interest her or excite her like it used to and she was pissed at herself for feeling this way. To think that once she had craved a normal life. She now knew that this sort of life was not for her. Nor was it a life for Mulder.

As she continued her hike through the woods, she tried to think if she missed those days. She was lonely but she was free of her worries for Mulder. She could talk to him about her feelings, but then she remembered that it was like pouring oil on water… nothing stuck. She could have been talking to him about preparing a cup of tea and he would have had the same reaction. He listened to her, but nothing truly registered. This was something that always astounded her; the effect of psychiatric drugs. The way they changed the chemistry of the brain in such a way that a person could be so completely different.

She waited for things to change, even though she knew that thoughts of hope were probably be futile. She was finally rewarded for her endurance.

She had found a way to keep in touch with Skinner with the help of patients of hers who traveled across the country on business. She'd given them instructions regarding how to contact him. She left cryptic messages but Skinner figured them out and every few months she would send him a message and he would reply. Those tiny notes she received kept her going. The first notes were just to let her know how things were with him and she would let him know of their situation. Then one day she received a note telling her about the death of Billy Miles. This shocked her to the core. Her excitement, unfortunately, didn't pass on to Mulder who received this important piece of information as if she was telling him about next day's weather. Moments like this made her abhor the drugs. She wanted to shake Mulder out of his indifference but she knew it was pointless. He would have just looked at her with a confused stare. He would not understand why she was so upset. Instead, just like she had done today, she went out for a walk, trying to organize her untidy thoughts. Miles was a super soldier. He could not die. Possibly Skinner was wrong. Maybe he had come back to life since she had received this note. She couldn't harbor any hope. She couldn't. But she did.

She tried to avoid sending too many notes back and forth. She knew there was a great risk to Mulder's life if anybody found out that Skinner was in contact with her, so she had to wait patiently until she could ask him all the questions she had in mind. Two months later she received another note. _Super Soldier killer virus discovered._

She reminisced back on that day. It was beyond belief. Finally things were turning in their favor. She had a good feeling in her heart that soon this miserable life they were living would be over. Maybe she would finally have her Mulder back. She would also be able to see her mom again. She missed her so much. She knew that her disappearance was probably wreaking havoc in her mother's soul. She didn't know if she could ever make up for it.

She realized as she was recalling those days in New Mexico that she should probably call her mom. Things were never quite the same between them after she'd given up on her son. She sighed. She'd caused her mother so much grief. What sort of a daughter was she?

She'd given up so much, and it was all for Mulder. There was no way around it. That day she was assigned to work with him on the X-Files was the day her life changed forever and the day she met her one and only true partner. But somehow it was never simple for them. They were not meant to have it easy. Even now, when nobody was chasing them and Mulder wasn't chasing anything, still, things were just not right between them.

He wasn't well. He wasn't as bad as he was during their first year in New Mexico, but he was not in any way a healthy specimen.

Her prayers were eventually answered. Not only were all the super soldiers dead due to the virus, but once the super soldiers' nature had become a known fact, people at upper ranks were forced to exonerate Mulder from the crimes they had accused him of committing. He was no longer considered a felon running from the law. His matter was not going to be pursued any further. She had received all of this wondrous information over a long distance call from Skinner. It had been four years since she had heard his voice.

Now, two years later, she wondered what had gone wrong. She'd been longing to get back. She was hoping they could finally have some peace and quiet. Skinner had used his contacts to get her a position at "Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital" at the pediatric oncology ward. She finally had a job that earned her enough money so she could afford therapy for Mulder. She wanted to wean him off the detested SSRIs. She loathed that Mulder needed them to function and their effect on him. She had high hopes that with therapy, he would be able to function sans drugs.

As Mulder was still under the drugs' effect, he agreed to treatment. The therapist gradually reduced his dosage until he was off the Prozac altogether within half a year since treatment had begun, but as the effect wore off, Scully noted changes. Slowly his paranoia had returned. The PTSD wasn't as bad, but he was restless and insecure and after a year's therapy he refused to continue. He believed it wasn't helping anymore and Scully felt he was probably right.

He was far more sensitive but this had both its upsides and downsides. He was so tender with her and caring; tiny gestures that told her just how well he knew her. He'd order special science magazines for her and he'd prepare her dinner, albeit a simple dish, but he would make it and even succeed at it. They were even talking about getting a dog at some stage because he knew how much she loved her mutts. But then she would catch him brooding when he wasn't paying attention. The sadness in his eyes would crack her heart. Gradually he'd become more withdrawn. Most days he'd be on the internet surfing and collecting printouts. He'd turned the den into their old basement office. The walls were covered with post-its and newspaper clippings. She tried to tell herself that this was part of his therapy. That he needed to go through this phase, but deep down she knew this was more than a phase.

She started to slowly refrain from sharing certain details with him as he gradually regressed. She realized that she was going back to her original decision that the less she told him, the less hurt he would be. So she stopped telling him about her sick kids and she stopped trying to reminisce about how they used to be. When she spoke with Skinner it was always from work and gradually she felt there wasn't much for her to talk about with Mulder, and as she quit sharing with him, the more resentful he became.

She felt as if he were a child, angry at her because he could not understand that her deeds were for his own good. She found no way to explain to Mulder that she was just thinking of him. She hoped he wouldn't resent her for long. Alas, this was not to be.

Now all their life consisted of was routines that they each kept. He would wake up early, have a decent workout, have his breakfast, surf the net, collect parcels from delivery vans, watch TV, eat and if she was home, they'd have sex. It would be just another part of their routine. She'd eat her usual low fat food, go to work, come home, read medical journals, write a few emails and then she'd join him for sex if she could.

They lived with each other but it was more like living side by side. It was just out of pure selfish comfort that they stuck to one another. They could've just as well been living with someone else, and nobody would have noticed the difference.

And the sad part was, she knew there and then that things won't change. She would never leave him. He needed her. At least that's what she believed. So she stayed and kept a rational façade around him, and if she had a bad day, she would save her pain for the tiny closet at work. That's how it had been for some time. Until today.

It was getting late. She knew better than to remain in the woods after dark. The cabin's location was essentially nowhere and should something happen to her, she wasn't sure she would be found in time. Sometimes she wished she could just disappear, especially after a day like today. She still felt the stabbing pain as she remembered Miranda's words to her. She should have never promised her a good outcome. She will never repeat that mistake again. She only regretted planting a seed of hope in that mother's heart and then crushing it to bits.

She searched the woods for the shortcut back to the field surrounding their house. She came by it a couple of minutes later and she strode half-heartedly back to their home. She wasn't looking forward to her partner's detachment. She needed a shoulder to lay her troubles upon. She couldn't really blame Mulder or the medication, or its lack thereof, for how things had turned out. Mulder's soul had been tarnished long before he was born, by the acquaintances his mother and supposed father had made. He was the unfortunate result of these connections, essentially born to pay for the sins of his fathers and mother.

As for her? She truly didn't know why she was so drawn to him and his crusade for all these years. She still wondered if she had not been kidnapped, would she have remained with him. She had no answer to that and at this moment it didn't really matter.

She never imagined herself feeling so alone, though. She used to have friends and she was used to her big family gatherings as a child. That past life seemed so alien to her now. She could not relate to it anymore. She had done so much and seen so much. At least the challenge of her work was something that came close to the kind of thrill she required on a daily basis.

She knew her feelings of guilt would subside. She will have a quiet evening with Mulder, even if it was just to sit by his side and watch an old movie. Tomorrow she will start fresh. Things will be OK. She made up her mind to keep a strong grip over her emotions and to not let any grieving mother or her aloof lover affect her.


	3. Part Three

The humming of the water was lulling her into a semi trance state as it enveloped her. She felt it visiting every crevice in her body, digging its way into very intimate spots where nobody else was able to reach. It offered freedom for both body and soul, and with this freedom she felt herself slowly slipping into a day dream as the soothing effect of the shower relaxed her.

Her gaze was directed at her feet. She watched as the water flowed along her legs and down into the drain, almost hypnotized by it. The usually translucent liquid had a pink tint to it as it met the white porcelain; the color of water mixed with blood. The pink hue slowly dissipated as more water rushed along her skin, taking with it the unholy feelings of repulsion people got from dirt and death and sickness. It was as if she were being baptized again.

Each time she showered after surgery it felt like this. The removal of illness and disease, the cleansing of sweat and the smell of fear, hers and the patient's; she never considered it a luxury. It was what made it possible for her to move on, to see another patient, to go home and to leave work behind her. On days when time was short and a shower was not possible, she could feel as if she was carrying a burden with her, carrying a disease around as she moved from one patient to the next. As if she was contaminated and was spreading the plague.

Her thoughts wandered further back to the day before. She blinked as she recalled herself waking up with a start and finding a set of hazel eyes staring right into hers. There was definite worry in that stare of his. It was something she hadn't seen in his eyes for quite a while and as she recalled his look, she felt herself wince inwardly. She wanted to hold on to that warm stare, to that softness in the corner of his eyes. She couldn't believe how desperately she wanted his former self back in her life.

The moment was short lived. As soon as he registered that he was caught in the act, the look of deep concern evaporated from his eyes and with a slight groan he turned over and all she was left to stare at was his broad back. On the outside she kept to her cold controlled stance but inside she could feel something break. _Damn you Mulder!_

At that very moment she realized he _was_ in there; that person she came to know and love. He was there and he was purposely causing her pain by ignoring her. She wanted to hate him for the way he was treating her, but she knew he wasn't to blame. She would have blamed it on herself but she only did what she had to do because she loved him, and she had to protect him because of what was done to him, not by her, but by people who didn't give a shit about anybody else but themselves.

She turned around under the covers and tried to fall asleep, but sleep eluded her. Instead, a locomotive of thoughts barged into her mind as she realized why she had woken up in the first place and why Mulder was staring so intently at her.

She shivered as the memory came back to her. First she recalled the stare of huge doll's eyes. It was one of the 'Brylee dolls' Miranda had made for her; only that this particular doll was alive and it wasn't smiling. It had an evil sinister look to it. As she remembered more of her dream, she could feel her skin turning into goose bumps. She shook her head, as if trying to erase the all too vivid memory from her thoughts, but to no avail. Her subconscious was now fully aroused and it produced more segments of her nightmare.

The doll was talking to her but its voice was Miranda's. "You made a promise!" the doll said as it grew taller and ominously towered over her. "You lied." The doll was now stretching its huge arms and reaching for her. "Liars have to pay for their lies." Scully just stood there as if she was rooted to the ground, or worse, as if she accepted her fate. Yes, she was surrendering as if she truly deserved to be punished. She tilted her head backwards and exposed her neck. The doll grabbed her with eyes filled with hate and greed. Scully felt herself being shaken by its strong hands, and slowly she could feel her lungs being deprived of oxygen. As she began to lose consciousness, she suddenly found her will to fight. Her arms flailed as she tried to break the doll's deathly clutch. She was losing the battle. She was going to die.

She woke up, her pulse racing, just as it did now as she recalled her dream. The feeling of dread was so powerful even several hours later. She realized that she must have thrashed and cried out while in the nightmare's grip and Mulder must have woken up and witnessed the one time she couldn't keep her control. _Fuck!_

There was a knock on the door. It shook her out of her reverie and sent her right back into reality. "Yes?" she called out.

"Dr. Scully, you are needed in the ward. There's a new patient waiting to be seen." It was Neela, her favorite scrub nurse.

"Thanks," she said as she turned off the water. She was grateful for the timed intervention. Another minute of dwelling on that dream and on Mulder's reaction and she would have succumbed to her need to relieve herself of her guilty pangs. She knew there was no time for this, and that it would be better for her to get on with the program than to continue thinking about issues she couldn't control like Miranda's backlash and her own nightmares.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and hopped over to the bench where a fresh pair of scrubs was waiting along with her toiletries. As if on auto pilot, she absent-mindedly donned on the scrubs, and then she approached the tiny mirror above the sink. It was layered with condensation. She grabbed the corner of her towel and wiped the mirror and then peered at her reflection in the cleared section she had created. The mirror was still moist and her face was somewhat crooked as a result but despite this, she couldn't ignore the gaping black patches that had formed under her eyes. _Crap!_ She had no time for makeup and this meant people would be bugging her all day, wondering how come the usually very crisp looking Dana Scully looked like a mutt dragged out from the sewer.

Maybe she could just put on a basic coat of makeup, she thought and reached for her toiletry bag, but another knock on the door stopped her mid-grab.

"Dr. Scully? Are you coming? They keep calling and asking when you will be down there."

Fuck! There was no time to become presentable. She hurriedly braided her hair to get at least something in order, and then exited the shower and headed for her locker. The OR lockers weren't locked. Their sole purpose was storing doctors' lab coats and a few snacks should a surgeon wish to have a tiny nibble in between during long hour surgeries. Scully approached hers, pushed its door aside and was surprised to find it empty. Her lab coat was missing along with her stethoscope and name tag. She was confused. Could she have used another locker?

With a mild frenzy she began a search through all the adjacent lockers, and as she went through each and every one of them and her search turned barren, she felt a slight anxiety wave rushing through her. She pulled another locker door open and another, she grabbed lab coats and examined them frantically. None were hers. She was certain she had arrived at the OR with her lab coat on, but maybe she hadn't? No, she had no doubt. She recalled leaving her lab coat because as she was trying to hang it, it refused to stay on the crooked hanger she had, and she went to get a different one. Dammit! Somebody must have taken it by mistake.

"Neela!" she hollered.

"Yeah?" the scrub nurse came rushing in.

"I'm sorry," Scully said, feeling she should control herself, "but did you happen to notice anybody by my locker?"

The nurse had a baffled expression on her face as a response to Scully's query.

"My lab coat is missing from my locker," she clarified.

"My apologies. It's been crazy here. I really have no idea."

"It's OK." Scully sighed, then as an afterthought she added, "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you call Peds Oncology and let them know I'll be delayed? I've got to get a temp name tag from security."

"No problem."

* * *

Requiring order in her life meant that when it was missing, she would feel stressed and insecure and the missing tag and lab coat supplied her with ample reason for these sensations.

It was bad enough that yesterday night's nightmare made her lose sleep and that due to lack of time she was unable to conceal the darkness surrounding her eyes and that her hair appeared disorderly and somewhat frazzled as strands refused to remain within the hurried braid she'd collected it in; without her name tag and white coat, she felt like a slug missing its shell. She felt like an imposter. All she had on were plain scrubs and a temporary name tag and none had her name. She could tell this new patient's family anything and it would be up to them to decide if she was truly a doctor, or at least if she was the doctor she claimed to be. It was a silly notion, she knew it. She wondered what Mulder would say if she told him how she felt right now. The old Mulder would have laughed and found a comment to lighten up her mood and make her see how foolish she was, but the old Mulder was gone and this current one was in fact aiding in her nervous wreck act, like an accessory to crime.

As time was against her, she found herself rushing through the hallways and taking the stairs instead of the elevator. At least 'Our Lady' wasn't the largest of medical facilities and for that she was thankful.

Now approaching her ward, she had to restore her breathing so she would appear calm and relaxed. There was a restroom just before the ward entrance. She hopped inside and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see the quick rise and fall of her chest as she was trying to catch her breath. She forced herself to slow her breathing down and once she'd disciplined it she freed her hair from the unruly braid and re-braided it. She still appeared flushed from the race through the hallways but this was something she couldn't fix. _Take a deep breath_ , she ordered herself. She inhaled, then slowly exhaled. OK, this was as good as she could get it.

She was out of the restroom and moving to the ward entrance. She waved her temporary tag at the card reader and was grateful that it chose to accept it and allow her in. She hurried to the nurse's station feeling awful about having to make a patient and his family wait. This wasn't the best way to start what she knew would probably turn into a long term relationship. She hoped she could fix this first impression with her medical abilities, but when she grabbed the new child's chart and skimmed through the first few paragraphs, her heart skipped a beat. This was another neuroblastoma case. She felt anxiety wallow up. _No_. She couldn't let the outcome of one case affect her treatment of another. This was not like her. She was always able to step away from a case and move on to the other. She never let things reach such a personal level.

She let out a sigh. Somehow she had let Miranda get under her skin. Maybe it wasn't she who got personal, but it was Miranda's knack to force herself onto people that broke her usual mantra and got her relationship with that mother and child into a different plane. She didn't know exactly how and why, but she realized that a line had been crossed with Brylee's case and now everybody was paying a price.

Well, she couldn't change things for Brylee anymore, but she was resolved to keep her guard this time and her distance. She won't repeat this mistake again. She would be professional but not personal.

"What's the room number for Ethan Wallace?" she asked the nurse who was minding the station.

The nurse stared at the monitor in front of her, clicked the mouse a couple of times then returned with an answer. "He's in room 201, Dr. Scully."

"Seriously?"

"Why? What's wrong with that room?"

Scully paused, trying to form a response that wouldn't give her away. "It's just that Brylee is in 202 and her having the same type of cancer…" she trailed off, hoping the nurse would catch on.

"Oh. I see your point," the nurse responded, an apologetic tone lacing her voice, "unfortunately the ward is fully booked. 201 was the only room available. I'm sorry."

Scully regretted heading in that line of conversation. It was pointless and served no good purpose. The real issue was about having to go past the dying child's room and having to possibly happen upon her mother who considered Scully persona non grata. "It's OK. Don't worry about it," she told the nurse and let her feet guide her towards the new sick child's room.

Despite logically knowing that she shouldn't, she found herself shooting a quick glance through Brylee's room window as she passed by it. Brylee had remained in the same position she was in yesterday. Unfortunately Scully didn't get a chance to take in Brylee's situation any further as her eyes quickly met Miranda's and her lancing glare filled with raging hatred forced Scully to quickly shift her gaze. She felt as if she were bitten by a snake. The drastic turn Miranda's disposition took, once she'd realized her child had lost her chance at life, was scary.

Scully kicked herself over her inability to keep her curiosity in check. She felt less assured about entering Ethan's room after seeing Brylee again and getting Miranda's lashing stare. Why did she not just walk by? She had to muster all her self-control in order to keep her insecurity at bay. The sight of Brylee and her mom prior to her meeting with this new family made her even more apprehensive.

Out of habit she tried to straighten out her lab coat collar and then she realized she wasn't wearing it. This didn't bode well. Her gut was telling her that she should back away from this case and hand it over to another physician but on what grounds? She had worked hard to earn the respect of her colleagues, especially after being away for so long, and if she would pass on a case claiming she had a bad feeling about it or even just saying that her previous such case result ended badly and thus she felt she couldn't handle another; all this won't go down well in the eyes of her peers and of course of the board members. No. She had to suck it up and cope.

Having arrived at a resolution and having reached Ethan's room, Scully plastered her best professional expression to her face, took a deep breath and entered the room.

As she closed the door behind her, she quickly took in the situation, something that remained from her work as an FBI agent. She took note of all the details, significant to minuscule ones. She never knew when a minor item would turn out to be a major issue.

In the focal point, on the hospital bed lay a scrawny boy whom Scully knew was supposed to be five years of age, but he seemed younger. He had ash brown hair that fell past his ear length and his bangs were long enough to get in his eyes' way, but they were combed to his right side. The child was extremely pale and in obvious discomfort. His face was a testament of pain and unhappiness and this made Scully's stomach churn.

Ethan's parents were both sitting on the left side of his bed. They were holding hands, and Scully realized she had obviously broken into a deep conversation they were having. Ethan's mom's eyes were moist and her face flushed. Scully assumed they were probably not talking directly about Ethan in front of the child but obviously it was related in some way. They seemed tight to Scully and that was a good thing for a child requiring every possible support to cope with the demanding and excruciating treatment regime. At least one thing was in this kid's favor.

As Scully approached them, both parents got up from their chairs and gave her anxious and hope-filled eyes. Scully forced herself not to turn around and run out of the room. This was the same look Miranda had on her face over a year ago. That look parents of sick kids gave her when they believed she was their child's soul savior. Up until yesterday she felt that she was indeed their last resort. She didn't believe it to be hubris. She truly felt that these children were sent to her care when it was concluded that nothing else could be done. She tried everything in her power, including brand new experimental procedures and treatments. She had some surprising success in prolonging the lives of some of the children she treated and this was why she felt she was giving people hope. She had long made up her mind that if a treatment existed, she would use it if there weren't any better options. She was living testament for a miracle cure herself. She had somebody not give up on her and she didn't want to give up on these children. She also knew that having to give up on William made her even more tenacious.

But now she felt like a fraud. She didn't want those parents to look at her like a savior anymore. She was just a doctor trying her best and she had the right to fail. If they looked at her like she was the embodiment of hope on Earth, she felt as if they forbade her that right to be human and to err.

Still, no amount of wishing in her mind changed the Wallaces' expression and Scully had to just push through and ignore her personal hopes in order to indulge theirs.

"Hi, my name is Dr. Dana Scully and I will be treating Ethan."

It was the father who took the lead in the conversation, as was common in most such situations, Scully noted. "I'm John and this is my wife, Lilian," John Wallace gestured with his head and squeezed his wife's hand ever so lightly.

Scully offered them a weak smile, which she knew sent both a message of warmth and sympathy at the same time. "This must be Ethan," she directed her gaze at the child who was now huddled deeply within the covers. As she mentioned his name the child turned to face the other side and then curled into a ball, stating quite clearly that this was the last place he would like to be at that very moment. Scully could not help but feel deep empathy for the miserable boy. He must be scared out of his wits. A strange place with strange people, combined with the fact that he wasn't feeling well and had already undergone plenty of procedures prior to his arrival at 'Our Lady'. Obviously the boy understood that this place didn't mean anything good as far as he was concerned. There wasn't much she could say to make him feel better. She knew as much. As an adult who had gone through cancer treatment she understood him all too well. She, at least, understood why she had to go through treatment, but even so, she was terrified and scared. It made one feel so small and insignificant. This young boy didn't understand why everything was happening to him. It was just unfair in his eyes.

Scully looked back at the parents. "I think that first thing we should get Ethan more comfortable so I'll prescribe him something for the pain. Do you think he will be OK on his own for a couple of minutes? I would like to talk to you in the hall if that's OK."

Lilian seemed unsure, it was very clear from the distressed expression she now assumed as a response to Scully's request. Scully understood her reluctance to leave her child on his own in his current condition and especially on his first day of admittance. "You know what? I'll get a nurse to stay with him while we talk, will that be OK?"

"Yes," Lillian Wallace spoke for the first time. Scully could hear the cracking of her voice and knew the mother was on the verge of tears. She wanted to grab her hand and comfort her. It's something she usually did, but she held herself. Keeping her distance was of the essence. It will help this family if things went bad. She also had to admit it would help her too.

"OK, I'll be right back," she told them and headed out to summon the nurse.

* * *

The corridors of "Our Lady" had always had subdued illumination, a combination of an old building and using the low key lighting as a means to make the corridors less inviting so people wouldn't gather and disturb the peace. In newer modern hospitals this measurement had long been abandoned, but this catholic hospital had been around for a very long time and kept many of its old traditions. Scully didn't mind it so much so long as the hospital provided top notch technology where treatment was concerned. Now she sat in the dim lit corridor with John and Lillian Wallace just outside Ethan's room about to get down to business.

When she was returning with the nurse, she contemplated bringing the parents something to drink, to help ease them into the uneasy conversation about to take place; then she decided against it, fearing it would send them into a more personal level of conversation. She so wished she had those drinks once she had sat down with the worried couple. There was high tension in the air and it was hard to break.

She took in a deep breath and began talking. "So… Ethan was diagnosed with neuroblastoma… how long ago?"

"We got the final biopsy results about a week ago. We began searching for the right facility the moment we knew for sure," John Wallace explained.

"How long had he been symptomatic?" Scully queried.

This time Lillian responded. "We began noticing a change maybe three months ago. He kept getting sick and he was never a sick child, so it seemed strange to us. He became very weak and tired and he lost his appetite and was losing weight. We were seeing our GP on a weekly basis, and sometimes even more than that. He was as puzzled as we were. He treated his symptoms and told us that maybe one of the illnesses he caught had lowered his immune system and that made him very susceptible to other diseases. It was only when the pain in his leg began that he became highly concerned and Ethan was sent to our local medical facility for further testing. That's when they found the mass in his leg. Then he had a biopsy and the rest you know."

Scully listened intently. The presentation was still partial. She needed more to decide on a course of treatment. "OK. I know this is going to be hard on Ethan, but before we even begin treating him, I will need to run some more tests. He will need a thorough scan to search for metastases and more blood and urine tests. Depending on the results, I might require additional tests." She could see Lillian Wallace pale as she spoke. "Mrs. Wallace, I know this is hard. I will not sugar coat this, Ethan's condition is quite serious. It's these tests that will tell us just how serious it is. It's better to know than to find out the hard way, don't you think?"

The distraught mother burst into tears, unable to control herself any further. John Wallace wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder and pulled her towards him. Lillian Wallace burrowed her head into her husband's shoulder and wept. Scully resisted the urge to stretch her hand and lay it on the mother's lap. She wanted to show that she cared somehow, but she held herself back. _Not this time. You will not fall for this._

"Do you have a Kleenex or something?" John Wallace asked, barely uttering the question as he, too, choked on tears.

"Sure," Scully got up to get them a pack of tissue. She hurried down the hall and grabbed the first pack she found on the nearest trolley.

As she rushed back to where she had left Ethan's parents, she caught sight of a familiar form talking to them and as her steps brought her nearer to said form, she could recognize the person's voice.

"—wouldn't trust her. She's a liar."

Scully hastened her stride. She had to prevent Miranda from causing any further damage both to her reputation and to Ethan's chance of surviving his cancer. She gave up on her need for professionalism and self-control. The matter at stake was far greater than the importance of her appearance. It only took seconds to reach the spot where she had left the Wallaces at, but it felt like a Million years and she had no idea how long Miranda had been bad-mouthing her. She hoped that John and Lillian were sensible people and once she'd talked to them, they will understand the circumstances that brought on Miranda's behavior.

"Miranda, what are you doing?" she panted hard as she spoke.

Without turning to face her, Miranda hissed, "just making sure people know with whom they are dealing."

Scully gave John and Lillian a quick glance and she could see from the deep anguish in their eyes that Miranda's words were taking their effect. _Fuck!_ She now had to deal with damage control and the situation was so delicate, it felt like defusing a bomb, only that there was more than one bomb to handle; she couldn't just yell at Miranda or try to push off the blame. Miranda Sanders wasn't just some person making false claims. She was a grieving mother, and her conduct stemmed from her current situation. To add to all of that, raising her voice at another parent would also give the wrong impression to Ethan's parents who didn't even know her. She still had to earn their trust and respect. She had to find some middle ground by which she could get Miranda away from the Wallaces without making a scene. Now, if only such an option existed.

"Miranda, you're upset—" Scully said as she rested her hand on Miranda's shoulder. To her total surprise, Miranda turned around to face her so abruptly, it made Scully's hand fly right off of the mother's shoulder with great force as if she were a puppet with no control over her limbs. She gasped with shock.

"Don't you _dare_ touch me!" Miranda almost snarled at her. There was something very primal about her behavior, it was ghastly. "You do not have the right to touch me, _bitch!_ "

Scully backed off. "OK. I'm sorry."

" _Are_ you?"

This wasn't heading in a good direction. "Miranda, please," Scully begged.

But Miranda persisted. "You are unreliable Dr. Scully, and I will make sure everybody knows. Mind my words." With that she turned around and went back into her daughter's room leaving Scully to pick up the pieces.

Scully became aware of how rapid her pulse felt. She could sense a headache on the verge of eruption. She massaged her temples and tried to calm down but she had to quickly address the questions she could see forming on the Wallaces' faces. _Oh God, Miranda, what have you done?_

"Look, it's not what you think," _Dammit._ This sounded so lame. She knew how she would react to her attempts to defend herself. "Her daughter is in a very bad state and she is very upset. I'm so sorry about this."

Lillian Wallace got up from her chair and stared directly into Scully's eyes. "What does her daughter have?

Scully wanted to avert her eyes, but she knew this sent a message of guilt so she held on to Lillian's gaze, but she couldn't stop kneading her palms together. Her level of stress had become so extreme; she was amazed she was still holding on. "I'm sorry. This is confidential information."

"She had neuroblastoma, too, right?"

Still holding Lillian's gaze, Scully chose to keep silent, but she knew this served as confirmation for the bewildered mother who now moved away from her and slumped back into the corridor chair. "Maybe we should just take Ethan home."

Scully gave up on the formalities. "Lillian, listen to me, we haven't even found out the extent of Ethan's disease. Let's just take it one step at a time. I promise you that if there is nothing to be done, I won't make you stay here under false pretenses."

Lillian Wallace seemed defeated. Scully tried to make her see her side of things, but she refused to even look at her, as if afraid that Scully might convince her if she did. Scully felt hope slipping through her hands. To her utter surprise, she was rescued by no other than Lillian's husband.

"Honey," he spoke to his wife softly as he stroked her platinum blond hair, "why don't we just have her do the tests. We don't even know what's really going on with Ethan. I know that if I let him die and there was still hope for him, I would never forgive myself. I think you feel the same, don't you?"

"I don't know… John, you heard that other woman…" Lillian's voice trembled.

"Darling, her child is dying. She needs to blame somebody. It's obvious she would choose to pick on her doctor. I wouldn't make much of this and you shouldn't either."

Scully couldn't believe her ears. John Wallace seemed to be the voice of reason. She gave the father a grateful look. He nodded which made Scully feel more assured.

"Lillian?" Scully wanted to make sure the mother was on board. "Do you agree? Can I proceed with preliminary tests?"

There was a long pause and Scully felt she would not be able to hold on to her breath any longer, but eventually Lillian nodded assent. Scully responded alike, then turned around and exhaled. She tried her hardest to slow down her pace despite her dire need to run away as fast as possible. As she turned around the corner and she knew she was out of the Wallaces' line of sight, she quickened her step. Now her fight or flight instinct took over as she headed for the relative safety of her office.

* * *

Scully arrived at her office eagerly, but as she was about to fidget through her pockets for her keys she realized that they were in the missing lab coat. Frustration ebbing heavily, she slammed her hand on her office door and cursed. "Shit!" What a lousy day she was having. She ran her hand through her hair and tried to figure out her next move. She had to gain access to her office. Her handbag with her car keys and purse were inside. She still had her cell as she took it with her into the OR and kept it beside her during the shower she took earlier. She had to call maintenance. She so didn't want to deal with any handyman at that moment, but she didn't have much choice.

She also needed to replace the lock if her lab coat wasn't found. Another matter she had no time for.

She peered through her office's glass wall. At first glance it seemed like nothing had been changed, but then something caught her eye. The dolls, they had been rearranged. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the new arrangement, but she knew it was different. Now she had shivers running down her spine. What the hell was going on?

It was obvious that whoever had taken her coat did so intentionally but for what purpose?

Scully stared at the rearranged dolls again. She felt tired, drained and miserable and it seemed as if the smiling dolls were now sneering at her, almost taunting her. If she could have reached them, she had a strong feeling she would have tossed them all out, there and then.

She sighed and drew her phone from her scrubs' pocket. She checked the time. Her shift was over. Thank god for small miracles. She called information and had her call diverted to the maintenance department. They promised somebody would be available within thirty minutes. She was forced to wait at her office waiting area like a common guest until help arrived. As nobody was around, she lay back and slowly dosed off.

* * *

She felt a sharp stabbing pain in her right thigh. She let out a cry as another jab hit her left thigh. She tried to kick her attackers but she couldn't move her legs. She looked down and realized that her attackers were two young children, a boy and a girl. The girl was Brylee Sanders only that it was Brylee from the time before her treatment; her head still covered with beautiful long blond hair. The boy was Ethan Wallace. Each child held a scalpel and they were taking turns poking at her legs.

"Stop!" she yelled at them. The children looked up at her, their faces devoid of expression; then they looked at each other, smiled, and resumed sticking her legs. Scully screamed. She tried in vain to move her legs, but she now realized she was shackled to the ground. She screamed again. Nobody came. The children were relentless. They kept shoving the surgical instrument into her flesh as if it were just a funny game for them. Through her tears, Scully could see as a puddle of blood was forming beneath her. She prayed that she would lose consciousness. She wanted to die so the agony would end.

"Hey! Ms.! Doctor! HEY!"

Scully opened her eyes and bolted upright. Her breathing was heavy and she could feel trickles of sweat trailing down her back. She didn't understand where she was. She glanced at her legs, expecting to see deep cuts and blood pooling from under her, but there was nothing out of the ordinary and the blue color of her scrubs finally made her realize she was still in the hospital.

"Ms.? You OK?"

Scully's gaze darted in the direction of the voice. "Who are you?" she asked the unfamiliar man who was wearing a gray jumpsuit.

"I'm from maintenance," the man explained.

Scully still couldn't fathom what this maintenance guy wanted from her, and she gave him a quizzical eye.

The man began to lose his patience with her. "Listen, lady, didn't you call for maintenance?"

Her mind still felt foggy and she was trying to get a grip back on reality. Then her memory kicked in. "Oh! Right!" she shook her head as she realized how ridiculous she must seem. "I'm so sorry. It's been a long day and I must've dosed off."

"Yeah. You must have had a very bad dream, lady. You were screaming so loud, I thought you'd hurt yourself."

_Crap!_ She smiled awkwardly. "Yeah. I guess." she said and hoped that he would keep his mouth shut about what he'd seen and heard.

"So, what exactly did you need me for?" the handyman asked.

Scully was happy that he didn't dwell on her nightmare any further, and she directed him to her office door and proceeded with asking him to change the lock. He seemed happy enough to handle matters he was more accustomed to, and within twenty minutes, Scully was finally sitting at her desk. She hurriedly began rummaging through her drawers. Her handbag was still there and so were her car keys and purse, including its contents. Most of the cupboards were locked and it seemed that their key wasn't removed from its hiding place, but she still began a frenzied search through every piece of furniture until she was satisfied. Aside from the dolls, everything else had remained undisturbed.

She debated calling security. No major damage was done. It might just be a sick prank. She decided to let it go for now.

She sighed. It was time to go home. She'd had enough of the hospital for today. In fact, at that very moment she felt she'd had enough for a much longer period. She rubbed her eyes, grabbed her handbag and without changing into 'civilian' clothes, got out of her office, locked it up and headed home.


	4. Part Four

Fox Mulder was heavily engrossed in a documentary dealing with the American government appointing leaders in other countries but making it appear as if they were elected by their countrymen. As he watched the program, he kept jotting down names of various key people whom he believed to be such appointees. He gave his note a satisfactory smirk. He knew he was right. Then his elation dissipated as he realized that it didn't really matter as he was powerless and he truly didn't count anymore.

He was about to pause the video when a loud thump made him dart from the chair. His headphones slammed to the ground as they tore off from his head. _What the hell?_

As he got his bearings, he managed to catch a glimpse of what he realized was a scrub-clad Scully making a dash for the bathroom. She hurried inside and slammed the door behind her.

Mulder's heart was still racing. He shook his head and then stared dumbfounded at the bathroom door.

He checked his watch; she was early. Two days in a row.

Something was wrong.

He thought that yesterday was just a glitch. She could have had a very bad day at work. True, he assumed she probably had many such days but she usually didn't bring her baggage home. He didn't know what had changed yesterday. He didn't ask her and she chose to remain a clamshell. Then her terrified cries at night woke him up. He cringed at the recollection. She was whimpering in her sleep, then she seemed to be gasping for air and her arms were all over the place as if she was fighting an invisible assailant. Before he got the chance to wake her up, though, she did it on her own and as she opened her rattled blue eyes, she caught him gawking at her. So of course, instead of comforting her, he chose to be an ass. He turned around and feigned sleeping, but he didn't sleep and he knew she was wide awake. She kept tossing and turning and sighing. He knew that at some point she _did_ fall back to sleep. The rhythm of her breathing had turned shallow and steady. Only then was he able to dose off.

She seemed to go back to her 'normal' self in the morning. She hardly paid any attention to him as she flew out of the house, mumbling something about some bullshit surgery, so he figured she was probably OK and he moved on with his regular schedule, but now she was home early and once again he could hear muffled gagging sounds coming from their bathroom. Then a crazy thought popped into his head. Could Scully be... pregnant?!

He slapped his face. Oh my god! No. No way! But what if… after all they'd been having sex on a regular basis and it was unprotected sex and they _did_ have a child together, so essentially it _was_ possible. Then he thought to himself that William was a fluke. He shouldn't have happened. Scully was barren. They'd been practicing sex for a few years and so far they'd never produced a brother or a sister to William. But if William came to be, maybe it _was_ possible and since nothing had come out of _him_ having sexual intercourse with her, then maybe _he_ was the problem? Maybe she couldn't have children with him anymore, but possibly she could have them with somebody else? Was Scully having an affair? Maybe that's why she'd become so cold and distant? But this meant she wasn't practicing safe sex with whomever she was romping around the sheets with. Mulder shook his head. Scully would never do that now, would she? Maybe he didn't know her quite as well as he thought he did?

His thought process was on a roll, and with the aid of his paranoid tendencies, he was building an entire theory around Scully's current physical and mental status. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Scully was indeed pregnant. He made a check list in his head:

  * She was tired
  * She was moody
  * She obviously had nausea since she was vomiting
  * She had nightmares that also fit in with pregnancy



This was both incredible and terrible at the same time. Mulder was beside himself. But what if this wasn't _his_ child? And anyway, this was all a fantasy right now. He still had no confirmation.

He was so immersed in thought that he was taken aback when the bathroom door opened. He stood there facing a very haggard-looking Scully and unable to move. He blinked at her. He wanted to ask her that big question now hanging in the air, but he was lost for words. He had no idea how to approach the subject.

Scully on the other hand almost bumped into him and when he didn't budge she looked up at him with querying eyes. Mulder now noticed they were bloodshot. So she wasn't only heaving her guts out, she'd also been crying. Again, he added as an afterthought. Without intending to, he found his gaze traveling down her body and ending at her waist line. It was slender as ever. But of course, he was ahead of himself. If she was indeed with a bun in the oven, that bun was still but a tiny speck of dust.

"Mulder?" Scully's hoarseness was all too evident and he thought he heard something else in her voice. He couldn't quite pin-point it.

"Huh?"

"Do you mind?"

He finally understood. "Sorry," he apologized as he got out of her way.

He followed her with his gaze, noting how she was dragging herself with disheartened fashion to their bedroom. He tinkered with the idea of following her, then decided against it. It was bad enough that he was once again caught in the act of stalking her; he had a strong suspicion that he’d get shoes hurled at him if he trailed after her at that very moment.

But he didn’t know what else to do. She seemed… down. Were pregnant women depressed? He wasn’t around during the early stages of Scully's pregnancy the last time, and when he returned from the dead, she was reaching full term and seemed fine to him. But maybe he had so much going on himself, he wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have.

Unsure of his next move, Fox Mulder just stood in the middle of the hallway, waiting for Scully to emerge from their bedroom and hoping that once she did that, he would have come up with a plan.

So if it was a plan, he probably had to think it through. Yes. That was a good idea; like he used to do in the old days, back when he actually did something with his life. This meant that he first had to figure out his options. Well, not exactly _his_ options but more the possible scenarios at hand.

Scenario A: Scully was having an affair and was careless enough to get pregnant. He rubbed his forehead as he thought about it and grimaced. Scully stood by him for so long. She did have the eye for other men here and there but in the end, it was Fox William Mulder who won her over. They got along so well. Truly a Ying and Yang relationship, or opposites attract or whatever other cliché' one could pin on their partnership. They just fit in well. Or did they really? Because that was then. What they had now was worse than a couple married with kids. There wasn't much they had in common, aside from sharing a past and a home together, but was that enough to keep a relationship from falling apart?

Maybe once they'd stopped their search for the truth and settled into this… cozy… life of theirs, and everyday mundane routine took over, she'd just lost interest in him. Maybe she just came home every day out of habit and the sex they were having was just pity sex? Did she feel so sorry for him that she wasn't able to tell him that she didn't want to be around him anymore? That notion made him shudder. He wouldn't want her to hang around if she didn't truly want to.

And if she was having somebody else's baby, would he want to help her raise said child? He could barely take care of himself. Why on Earth would he want to take care of the result of Scully's copulation with her disembodied sex partner? And of course it could be worse; she might choose to move out altogether and build a new home for herself with her new lover.

He shook his head. No. No. No. This was _all_ wrong. He refused to believe it. Maybe Scully was pregnant but he couldn't accept her having an affair behind his back, or staying with him out of pity. She was better than that. He had to give her some credit. If she had indeed lost her interest, he trusted her to tell him, and he felt his conviction was just. There were certain things that never changed. Scully was loyal and she wouldn't hurt him like this. Maybe they were having problems. Well, not maybe. They were. There was no doubt there, but it was something else, he was sure of it.

So, he scratched scenario A and moved on to B: Scully was pregnant with _his_ offspring. OK. He could live with that. He just hoped it wouldn't be another mutant baby this time. Or did he really? If he had been around back then, would he have let Scully give William up? He knew he wouldn't. It's not that he resented Scully's actions at the time. She did what she had to do as a mother and only a mother who truly loved her child would be as brave as she was and think about her child's future and not about herself. It was the most amazing selfless act a person could have done, and he knew he would have never been able to do so. He was glad he wasn't around when that decision had to be made. He would have surely prevented it from happening and he had a feeling that this would have cost more than one precious life.

So let's say she is pregnant with another 'special' child. What then? Do they give that second child up for adoption, too? Do they keep it? Scully was constantly feeling the loss of William. _Constantly_. It had affected her terribly. He didn't know what the best option would be. He guessed Scully would probably know.

But, the question remained: Was Scully _actually_ pregnant? So on to scenario C: Scully isn't pregnant, but something else is wrong. She was moody, tired, nauseous and secretive. It could be any number of things: A problem at work, a mental breakdown or maybe even a health issue? The final thought made him shiver. What if? OK, _now_ he _had_ to figure out what was wrong with her, but how will he get her to play along?

_Think Mulder!_ He ordered himself. He needed a ploy; something to get Scully comfortable enough so she might divulge her most inner feelings to him. _Right Mulder,_ he chided himself, _just smile at her and she will pop open like a corn kernel on a stove._ Now _he_ was feeling sorry for himself. _Oh fuck it!_ He had to stop standing there like an idiot. He had to do something. He used to be an all-action kind of man. Now all that was left was this sad sorry act. Well, enough of this. _Think!_ OK, Scully was obviously under the weather and somewhat sick. Right. He could make her something to eat. He hadn't prepared her a meal in… probably never. She usually prepared food for both of them but lately they each had their food on their own. It had been a while since they'd sat down together for a meal and talked. He realized that that was due to the fact that Scully was always the one to initiate those dinners and she had gradually foregone that activity until she ceased altogether. Just another nail added to the coffin of their dying relationship.

Definitely a meal would be the right gesture. He hoped that it would stir some emotion out of her. She will have to notice that he was going out of his way to make contact.

He was no culinary genius, though, so he knew it won't be a grand gesture, but it was a lot more than what he offered her on a regular basis, and besides, she probably couldn't take too much anyway in her current condition. So with that in mind, he rummaged through their kitchen and finally decided on toast with jam and tea. Oh yes, he was a brilliant chef. He grinned sheepishly. Actually doing something was making him feel good about himself. It had been a while since he'd felt this way. Oddly enough, Scully's 'downfall' so to speak, was bringing him up. _Ouch._ He shouldn't feel this good when she was in such an awful state, but he couldn't help himself. It was probably just temporary anyway.

He popped a couple of slices into the toaster, then filled up the electric kettle and opened the top cupboard to grab Scully's favorite mug. He searched their pantry and found a batch of apple cinnamon tea bags. He snagged the entire pack and tossed it on the counter by the mug.

The toaster released two golden slices of perfect toast. Mulder grabbed them gingerly, quickly plopping them on a plate before his fingers got singed. Now he debated whether he should spread butter prior to the jam. He opted against it, thinking that it might contribute to her already upset stomach. It would have to be just jam and toast. Scully always had naturally preserved jams. This week's flavor was blueberry. He snatched the jar from the refrigerator's right door shelf and was about to land it by the toast when he heard Scully's screaming. The jar crashed to the kitchen floor, splattering purplish goo not only on the floor tiles, but on the surrounding cupboards as well.

Mulder rushed out of the kitchen and came flying into their bedroom, expecting the worst. The room was dark and he squinted, trying to figure out if there was somebody else in there. He could hear Scully crying out. "Stop! No! Stop!" And then a gut-wrenching howl of pure agony.

"Scully!" he called out to her as he absent-mindedly felt his waist in search of his gun, only to be reminded that it had been some time since a gun had been a part of his everyday garb. "Shit!"

He gradually got accustomed to the dark. He looked around. Scully was in their bed and she seemed fast asleep. There didn't seem to be anybody else around. _Great._ It was another nightmare. This one seemed far worse than the one she had the night before. He got closer and turned the bed-stand light on. He crouched beside her but as he was about to get a grip on her hand, it flew right into his chin and made contact with such great force, he lost his balance and landed on his butt. He blinked and rubbed his now sore jaw. Even in her sleep, Scully could handle a mean punch. Who or what was she fighting within her dreams? He had a vague sense that these nightmares were not the classical run of the mill hallucinations.

He pushed himself back into a crouching position just as Scully bolted upright with such speed, he felt a rush of wind pass by him.

“Oh my god!” she called out, obviously unaware that she was being observed. She sat in her bed, clutching her blanket and clearly trembling before him. She tried to regulate her breathing, but she was unsuccessful, slowly slipping into gasps as a panic attack took her over.

_Oh shit!_ Now it was Mulder’s turn to panic. He hefted himself onto the bedside and grabbed Scully’s arms. “Scully! Breath!” She bore her anguished eyes into him and he could see his words were not having the desired effect.

_Crap! What now?_ He dug deep into his memories, trying to recall his basic medical training. Panic attack… he needed a… “Bag!” _Right!_ Any bag would do but there weren’t any in the bedroom so he dashed manically back to the kitchen and barely avoided the pool of jam still decorating the floor, circling it, he began searching the kitchen drawers. He knew Scully kept a stash of used grocery bags someplace. He just hadn’t a clue where exactly. He flung one drawer after the other until he finally found them, all nice and neatly folded, in fully-fledged Scully style. He sank his hand into the drawer and yanked a batch of bags, then he leaped over the jam puddle and sprinted like crazy back to Scully.

By the time he had returned to her she had collapsed back into her pillow and he could see she was on the verge of losing consciousness. He let most of the bags drop to the ground, keeping only one. He wrapped his fist around its rim and then held the remaining opening over Scully’s mouth and nose.

“C’mon”, he prodded her.

It seemed to take forever, but she gradually came to. When she was more aware she poked at his wrist and tried to force him to remove the bag from her face. He resisted her. “Ah-ah,” he shook his head.

She gave him a disgruntled sigh and glared at him.

Mulder smiled. Doctors always made the worst patients and Scully was definitely not exempt from that inclination.

When he was satisfied with her appearance he pulled the bag away and sagged by her side, feeling exhaustion take over.

They sat there in silence. He tried to grab her attention but she was deliberately avoiding his gaze and staring at her hands. Her shoulders were slumped and her entire body stance was sending a message of shame and guilt. Mulder felt sorry for her and he couldn’t contain his concern any longer. He tried to touch her hand but she recoiled and pulled it back. _Dammit!_

“Scully? What’s wrong?” Yes, he’d finally asked the question.

She shrugged, still avoiding his eyes. He wanted to cup her chin and force her to look at him but he stayed put.

“Scully?”

Her response to his prying was to lie back in her bed, curl to the opposite side and to pull the covers up all the way to her face.

“Please,” why was she so obstinate?

“I’m tired, Mulder,” she finally spoke with dejection.

She was giving him the brush-off. _Damn her!_ He was trying. Why couldn’t she see that?

He felt drained and upset as he got up and left her. He went about the kitchen, mopping the floor and scrubbing the cupboard panels. The cold toast went flying to the bin and all that was left was her mug. He held it in his hand and he felt a strong urge to hurl it at the wall. Rage was now bubbling through him. He clutched her mug between his hands, trembling, feeling his muscles tighten, his knuckles turned white as his grip hardened.

He drove the mug up and then sent it down with great force but as it was about to make contact with the counter he broke his action and gently placed it back on the flat surface. He grabbed his head between his hands and sank all the way to the floor, warm tears rolling down his cheeks.

He remained on the kitchen floor for a while, unable to pick himself up, until he heard Scully moaning. He groaned and then pushed himself up and trudged over to the bedroom again. She was restless but she wasn’t as bad as before. He contemplated getting into bed with her, but he felt there was no way he would be able to fall asleep. Instead, he wandered aimlessly about the house for a while, checking on Scully, making sure she was alright. Gradually he felt he was slowing down and when his legs couldn’t carry him anymore, he landed on the living room couch. He turned the TV on and gazed at it, not really taking in whatever was on at that very moment. His mind was miles away, trying to connect the dots.

A gentle clicking sound made him slowly open his eyes. He was confused when he didn’t recognize his surroundings at first. This wasn’t his bed. He rubbed the cobwebs from his eyes, and lazily pushed himself upright. He looked around. He was in their living room. The sound of a car engine igniting made him jump. The events of the night before flashbacked through his mind, and he scrambled to his feet and darted out of the house, but he was too late.

“Scully!” he hollered as he skipped the short flight of stairs from their porch and tried to dash after her, hoping he’d be able to catch her at the yard’s main gate, but he was barefoot and the graveled driveway was causing havoc to his soles as tiny stones pierced through his flesh. He knew it would be pointless to continue, but irrationality won the bet as he limped further until he could see the main gate entrance, already padlocked with no car in sight.

Panting and in terrible pain, he slowly returned home. He made up his mind to corner her tonight. He won’t let her off the hook any further. But he had no idea how he was going to force Dana Scully to confide in him.


	5. Part Five

Scully’s eyes stung. She could feel moisture creeping out of their corners as she let out yet another yawn. She couldn’t shake the awful tiredness from her body. Her eyelids felt so goddamn heavy, she could barely keep them open. She had no idea how she would cope with today’s work, and the only blessing she found was that it was planned out to be an easy day.

She took another sip from her coffee only to discover that her cup had run dry. She desperately needed a refill and the hospital was still far away. There was supposed to be a gas station coming up pretty soon. She decided a coffee break was required. With that in mind, she forced herself to keep going. It was only a few more miles.

She let out another jaw-wrenching yawn, and was forced to wipe her eyes this time, destroying her much worked-upon makeup. She grimaced. She had to apply a double coat of concealer, as she looked as ill as the children she was taking care of. She was certain this wouldn’t install much confidence in her as a doctor if the parents of her patients saw her like this.

She felt her eyelids turning heavier, slowly drooping until they sealed shut. _Shit!_ She realized she was nodding off, and she forcefully opened her eyes and tried to keep them ajar. _Stay awake, Dana,_ she coaxed herself. Where was that goddamned gas station? She was sure she should have seen it by now.

The sudden blaring of a horn brought her to her senses; her eyelids flew wide open, and she was shocked when she caught site of a van rushing right at her. Instinct took over; she steered the car as hard as she could to the left, barely avoiding the van. As the van’s horn screamed behind her, she could see she was speeding right into the road’s sideline. She forced the steering wheel back to the right just in time to avoid the ditch. She pushed the brake pedal with tremendous force and the car screeched to a halt, its left wheels slightly dipping into the ditch she barely missed.

Too rattled to move, her heart fluttering and her head pounding, Dana Scully just sat there, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Absent-mindedly her hand reached for her necklace but when she touched her collarbone she was bewildered when she couldn't feel her cross. Her already racing heart skipped a beat. It was irrational, she knew it, but the tiny gold cross made her feel safe and some silly illogical notion was telling her that her near-miss just now was a result of said missing necklace. She shook her head, feeling annoyed that she would allow such nonsense into it, and yet, she felt a creeping sensation slithering into her. _Oh, get a grip on yourself, Dana!_ It was stupid, but she couldn't shake the terrible feeling of dread.

She tried to force rationality back into her mind. It was just a necklace, she was probably too tired to notice that she had forgotten to don it after her morning shower, but when she lingered on that thought further, she wasn't quite sure. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall her steps from that morning. She was quite certain now that she _had_ put the necklace on. So where the _hell_ was it? Maybe she just didn't close its latch properly and the near-collision's drastic movement caused it to fly off of her? Maybe. It was a possible scenario.

With her head still vigorously pounding, Scully released her seatbelt buckle and pushed her car seat back. She bent forward and squinted at the car's carpeting. She sent her hand searching under her seat and then checked the adjoining compartments and crevices of the car. She found nothing. Her headache was getting worse and the adrenaline that had washed through her system right after the near-accident was now losing its effect and her weariness returned.

Finally defeated, she pushed her seat back, buckled up and slowly returned to the right side of the road. There were no signs on that particular part of the way and for a second she felt lost and confused. It was absurd, of course. She travelled to work via this road on a daily basis, but suddenly something about it felt different. She took in the scenery. She recognized the barnyards she was passing, and she also knew she'd passed by that particular chapel she was now looking at, so why did it feel so strange to her? As she neared the chapel, she suddenly did a double take. Her eyes widened as she figured out what felt odd. The gas station. She was certain there was a gas station just by that chapel. Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, she rubbed her eyes and blinked. She couldn’t be _that_ tired, now, could she? She couldn't have misplaced an entire gas station. She felt a strange sensation of panic rushing through her heart and glimpses of the catastrophe from the night before came back to her. She shuddered, trying to clear her mind of those memories; the nightmares, her gasping for air and Mulder's shocked and horrified expression. And now this gas station. Could she be…? No. She couldn't think like that. She had too many people relying on her and depending on her. She couldn't afford to go crazy.

So if she wasn't crazy, where the _hell_ was that damn gas station?

She had no idea.

She continued driving, then, suddenly, she turned her right indicator on and carefully drove to the sideline. Now at a full stop, she turned around and was stunned when she saw that the gas station was indeed there, where it was supposed to be. _Dammit, Dana._ She shouldn't have gone to work if she was _this_ tired. Unfortunately she was already more than half-way there. Shaking her head both in disbelief and despair, she signaled to the left and got back on the road. There were no more places to stop along the way and she prayed she could make it in one piece till she could get her coffee refill at the hospital.

* * *

 

After what seemed like a long and excruciating drive, she had finally reached her destination. She parked her car and with extremely slow moves, she hefted her handbag and pushed herself out of it. She couldn't find it in her power to move any faster, so she slowly lugged herself to the elevator, as she gave in to her fatigued body's wishes.

She was late and the only good thing about it was that she had the elevator to herself, having missed the morning rush. She stood alone in front of the elevator mirror and took in her reflection. Smudged makeup mixed with eyeliner that desperately needed fixing met her gaze. She sighed wearily, promising herself to handle the makeup right after she'd had her coffee. It was then that she noticed the golden shimmer peeping from her neck collar. Could it be? Her eyes widened as her hand flew to her neck. She almost choked with surprise. _What the hell?_ She let her fingers trace the tiny object's shape as she stared with utter dismay at her reflection. It was one thing to not see an object standing right in front of her. It was a totally different thing when one couldn't _feel_ that object as well. Could the necklace have been so deep within the folds of her blouse she'd not been able to find it? She shook her head once again.

Scully didn't have time to figure out what was going on. The elevator doors opened and a gurney surrounded with an entire team almost came crashing into her. She shuffled to the right, making way for the large party that now accompanied her. She huddled in the corner, endeavouring to avoid eye-contact with the medical staff filling the elevator. Two flights later and she was once again left on her own. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when finally the elevator doors parted and she was at her office's floor.

As she neared 'The promised Land', aka, her office, her phone buzzed. She fumbled through her handbag for the intrepid device, snatched it and stared at its panel. She released an unhappy sigh as she read the number on the screen. It was Peds Oncology. She knew she was late. She just had to have some coffee in her, or she would possibly kill a patient, and it wouldn't be due to malpractice.

With great displeasure she answered the call. "Hello?"

"Dr. Scully, I'm sorry to bother you, but you have two families waiting at the outpatient clinic and there should be a third arriving anytime soon. Are you coming in?"

_Oh fuck!_ She hadn't noticed just how late she was. "Yes. I'm here. I'll be there in five minutes."

She clicked the disconnect button and hastened her stride to her office. She unlocked the door, threw her handbag on the desk and yanked a new lab coat from the hanger. She removed her jacket and tossed it by her handbag. Then as she dashed out of her office, she remembered her temp tag was fastened to her jacket. Her face contorted at the thought of the blasted tag, then she hopped right back into her office, riffled through her jacket folds and retrieved it.

She hurried down the corridor but when she reached the elevators she realized one was out of order. She thought it was strange since it had been operational a few moments ago but time was too short for her to contemplate on the subject. To her utter frustration the second elevator seemed to be stopping at every floor possible and taking forever to arrive. She lost her patience with it and decided to go with the stairs. At least she'd be going down and not climbing them this time, she consoled herself.

She shot down three flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time, and almost missing a step but managing to recover at the very last second. Her mind was in shambles; a mixture of memories from the night before, the events on the road and thoughts about messed-up makeup and very much missed coffee. Finally she plunged through the second floor's stairwell door and rushed along the bustling corridor towards the outpatient clinic at the Pediatric Oncology ward.

She threw a quick glance at the queue that was now forming before her room at the clinic and her expression writhed. Two sets of parents and two kids. She checked her watch. It was nine thirty AM. The first patient was scheduled for eight thirty. What a brilliant start.

She brushed the reprimand to the back of her mind. It was pointless now. She also knew she couldn't rush any of these checkups, so she approached the two waiting families and apologized for her tardiness. "Car problems," she told them. Sort of a white lie, she figured. It was more like a driver problem, she told herself, but heck. She convinced the second family to go have breakfast while they waited. There was no point in waiting for her as she wasn't going to accept them before she finished up with her first in line.

As she was showing the first family into the exam room, she heard the ward's charge nurse calling after her.

"Dr. Scully."

"Hmm…?"

"Ethan Wallace's test and scan results are here. Do you want them now?"

The mentioning of Ethan's name made her catch her breath. She quickly recovered. "Yes. Yes, please."

The nurse came up to her and handed her Ethan's chart. The half empty chart from yesterday gained in size now that the results had arrived. Despite truly wanting to riff through them, Scully had to hinder her curiosity till she had some free time. At the moment she had to give her undivided attention to the family of Jeffery Hung who were now staring back at her from their seats in front of her desk.

She closed the door behind her, dropped Ethan's chart on the desk and grabbed Jeffery's. As she read through Jeffery's recent tests she noted that something was out of order. The six year old had been in remission for the past two years and up until today all of his results came up negative. Now, one test made her suspicious. One of the cancer markers was elevated. What struck her as odd was the fact that this marker usually had accomplices and didn't show up on its own. She pinched her chin in deep thought and gave the results an additional reading. She had to make sure she hadn't missed other signs of a possible recurrence. She could hear the Hungs fidgeting in their chairs with unease. She had to tell them something, but she truly wished she didn't have to do this.

"What's wrong?" The dad, Simon Hung, asked.

She couldn't stall any further. She'd gone over the results thrice now. HVA was elevated but VMA and chromogranin A appeared normal. "One of the test results came back positive." She explained.

Jeffery's mom let out an almost inaudible gasp. Jeffery himself seemed to feel the tension in the air. He looked at his mom with deep concerned eyes, then switched to his dad, who responded with a pat on his head.

"Does this mean--?"

"It might not mean anything," Scully cut into Simon's question. "It's only one result and usually I expect this result to appear with other markers, so I'm actually hoping this is just a false positive."

Simon's face didn't show any sign of assuredness. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We need to repeat all the tests again, immediately, and I would like to examine Jeffery now, before I send you off." Scully got up and offered her hand to the young boy.

Jeffery didn't seem too happy about the turning of events. The usual checkups didn't include a physical examination. The test results were enough of an indicator for Scully. She didn't see any reason to perform an unnecessary physical if the tests didn't suggest it, or if the parents or the child didn't complain about something out of the ordinary.

"C'mon," Scully smiled at the now cowering child. When he didn't seem persuaded, she gave his mother a pleading look. "Sandra, I think it would be good if you helped Jeffery."

Sandra got up and held her hand to her son.

"No!" the child bellowed.

Scully held herself. She had to maintain a calm disposition or the child would sense her tension.

Sandra looked at Simon for help. The father got up with obvious reluctance and grabbed his son's hand.

Jeffery did not go down without a fight. He cried bloody murder as his father first dragged him by the hand, then finally picked him up as he kicked and screamed and landed him on the examination bed.

"I'm sorry Jeffery," Scully apologized. "This won't hurt, I promise."

But the agitated boy refused to lie down and Scully had to ask his father to restrain him while she held her examination. As Jeffery's body contorted and thrashed, Scully tried to give him a thorough physical. She palpated his abdomen, and searched for any form of enlargement, then she tried to remove his shoes so she could take his pants off and was rewarded with a sharp kick directly at her ribcage.

Tears formed in her eyes as her brain registered the impact. She let out a miserable grunt and felt her body fold on itself. She tried to breathe through the sudden pain and regain control over her keeling body. It was excruciating.

She felt somebody getting a hold on her arm and guiding her to a chair. She plopped down unceremoniously and gathered her senses.

"Doctor? Are you alright?" It was Sandra Hung. "I will get you something to drink maybe?"

Scully was still catching her breath, but she put up her hand hoping that Sandra would let her recover without fussing about her too much.

"Doctor?"

"It's OK," Scully panted as she spoke up. "I just need a minute."

The rest of the examination was accompanied by a nurse who assisted in holding the uncooperative six year old down while the Hungs repeatedly apologized for their son’s unruly behavior.

As the door closed behind the boy and his parents, Scully slumped into the chair behind the clinic desk and wondered why she thought this was supposed to be an easy day. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t have too much time to wallow in self-pity as her next appointment was already knocking at her door.

She groaned and then straightened herself as she called them in.

* * *

 

It was one thirty in the afternoon when Scully finally got a chance to get another cup of coffee and a cream cheese bagel. She hadn’t much time to get the food and drink downed. She was running late as it was and had to sit with the Wallaces on their son’s case. She sat at the second floor café and skimmed through Ethan’s chart as she nibbled her bagel. The results seemed inconclusive. The scans didn’t show mets but the blood stream indicated otherwise. She will have to treat him as if she had found actual mets. The question remained, will John and Lillian agree to any form to treatment. She will soon find out.

She put Ethan’s chart down and took another slurp of coffee. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She was still exhausted but the food and coffee did help somewhat. It had been a long morning at the outpatient clinic. After examining the test results of all four outpatients as well as examining the patients themselves, Scully had come to the conclusion that there was some lab malfunction. All the test results had shown an elevation of the same marker while the patients and their other test results seemed fine. She was upset that she was the one to catch the kink in the system and that it wasn’t caught sooner. Now all four patients had to endure another batch of tests to make certain everything was OK. She asked the desk clerk to handle the referrals and to make sure all were sent to a different lab. She would have to inform the hospital of her findings and she wanted to be sure before she did so.

She guzzled the bagel remains and was busy wiping her hands when her phone chirped. She dug into her lab coat pocket and retrieved it. She checked the number; it was the ward again. “Dr. Scully,” she answered.

“Errmm… Hi Doctor Scully. This is Jenine.”

“Hi Jenine. I’m just about to come over to see Ethan Wallace. Is everything OK?” Scully noted the desk clerk sounded uncomfortable and she felt a small knot forming in her belly. What was going on now?

“It’s about the outpatient referrals.”

Scully frowned. “What about them?”

“I think you should get over here. I will show you.”

The knot just got tighter. “Sure,” Scully replied and ended the conversation. She got up, grabbed the Styrofoam cup with her leftover coffee and tried to control her strides as she returned to the ward. It was probably nothing, she tried to calm herself down, but her gut feeling was telling her otherwise. She hurried her pace.

As she approached the front desk she was having trouble catching her breath and she knew it wasn’t from the walk she just took back to the ward. What was it with all the overreacting she was having to everything? In the back of her mind her logic was trying to make sense of her obscure behavior but her emotions pushed those thoughts aside. Instead, all she could feel was deep trepidation, as if the worst was about to come. She had to relax her breathing or she would relapse into another panic attack. It was bad enough Mulder had witnessed one. She had no idea what her colleagues would think if they saw her like that. She didn’t want to know. It was hard to relax with her mind in such disarray. _Breathe slowly, Dana,_ she ordered herself. The thought of having a major breakdown at work was obviously scarier than whatever else made her feel so distressed at that moment. Her breathing obeyed her command and slowed down.

Now somewhat more calm and composed, she approached the desk clerk, ready for whatever she had to throw at her. “Jenine?”

The petite desk clerk raised her head from the charts she was working on. “Hey.” Again discomfort ebbed from her voice.

“What did you want to show me?” she asked as she joined her at the desk.

“Well…” the clerk stalled and Scully was losing her patience.

She prompted the clerk to continue with a gesture of her eyes.

Jenine heaved a deep breath. “It’s just that you asked me to make these referrals and I was going over the results so I can prepare all the paperwork. You know that I usually highlight the problematic results?”

Scully nodded, and urged her to continue.

“So I was going to mark the elevated HVA result, but I couldn’t find it. I checked and rechecked but HVA seems within the norm.”

Scully frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes—“

“Can I see?” Scully almost yanked the chart from the clerk’s hand.

“Wait. There’s more.” Jenine interjected.

_More?_ Scully felt her right eyebrow arching as she wondered what else was wrong.

“I checked the other charts—“

“And?” Scully asked impatiently.

“None of these patients have elevated HVA.”

It was like a bomb had been dropped. How could this be? She shook her head in dismay. “No. This isn’t possible.” How could she have misread all four charts? This was not like her.

Jenine proffered her the four charts. Scully took hold of them and walked to the waiting area. She plummeted into the first empty couch and riffled through them. She mulled over the results over and over, feeling beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she went over the results again, only to discover she had obviously read them wrong. All four of them. Somehow she willed herself into seeing the same elevated marker in all of them. It was absurd. She was certain she’d read them right. How could she have made such a gross error?  

The headache from the morning was returning with a vengeance. She kneaded her forehead, pressing her fingers as hard as she could to her skull. The pain wouldn’t budge. Her trepidation also returned. She checked the results again with shaking hands. She couldn’t control her trembling and the chart she was holding dropped to the ground, spreading itself all around her. She couldn’t find it within her to pick it up.

“Doctor? Are you alright?” It was one of the nurses.

“Yeah…” She knew she sounded dazed. She felt the nurse was scrutinizing her, then she dropped to a squat and went about gathering the fallen chart and its notes.

“I’ll get you a cup of water.” The nurse said as she got up and handed her the chart she’d collected.

Scully didn’t say a word. She felt numbness taking over her body. She found solace in it. Maybe she would just sit there and not move anymore. She might do less harm if she stopped taking action. She thought of those four miserable kids and their parents whom she scared and also about Brylee. No. That wasn’t fair. She tried to do everything for that girl. So why did she feel she had wronged her? She didn’t understand.

Somebody shoved a cold object into her right hand and then brought her left hand to help support the object and prevent it from falling. She didn’t look at what was now in her hands, nor did she take in the person who had given, whatever it was, to her.

“There you go, doctor.” It was the nurse.

Scully finally regarded her hands. She was holding a plastic cup with water in it. She stared at it, as if it were the strangest thing in the world and she had no clue what to do with it.

“You should drink something,” the nurse told her.

Scully wondered why she should do that. It wasn’t going to help her feelings, nor would it change the fact that she now had to apologize to all four patients about giving them such an unnecessary fright.

“C’mon, now,” the nurse urged her.

She brought the cup to her lips and sipped the cold liquid. In a strange way, she did find that simple basic act, relaxing. She gulped the water until the cup was empty and finally glanced at the nurse who seemed satisfied with her actions.

“Feeling better?”

“Um-hm,” she nodded.

The nurse smiled and turned around and finally let her be.

She leaned forward, holding her head between her hands while resting her elbows on her knees. She strove to make sense of things. People can make errors, she rationalized, but four times in a row? She knew she was tired, but to make such a blatant mistake meant she was incapacitated. She should take the day off, maybe even more than a day, but could she afford this? There were two surgeries scheduled for the day after tomorrow. She was supposed to assist. Possibly she could ask somebody to replace her. If she missed a simple test result, she didn't want to imagine what havoc she might conjure within a human body. Just the thought made her cringe.

But before anything else she had to make those dreaded phone calls. She just hoped the parents won't sue. It could end her career, or at least hinder her advancement within the field of medicine. Maybe she deserved that, she thought, considering she couldn't read her charts properly.

She got up, about to take off to her office so she could have some privacy during the shameful calls she was about to make, when she heard footsteps approaching her. She tilted her head sideways and saw that it was Jenine. She released a miserable sigh and looked at the clerk irritably.

"Dr. Scully? What about Ethan Wallace?"

She face-palmed. _Oh crap!_ She'd totally forgotten her original reason for coming to the ward in the first place. She nodded. "Right. I'll go over to them. Thanks."

_You shouldn't be talking to them, Dana,_ she berated herself, but what was she to do? She'd already begun processing the child and it would take at least another day until another doctor would be able to see them, let alone study their case. The boy's parents were barely holding on as it was. She had to make the effort.

As she walked down the corridor she felt as if she were touring the Via Dolorosa. The burden her soul was carrying became heavier as she neared room 201. She vowed not to even slightly incline her head towards Brylee's room this time. But her heartbeat began rushing the closer she got. She felt nauseous and she swallowed hard and forced herself not to relieve herself of the bagel she had just eaten. She could feel the stingy taste of bile erupting down her throat and she gulped for air. _Dana Scully! What the **hell** is wrong with you?_ She felt as if she were about to faint. It was absolutely ridiculous. Where did her self-control disappear to?

Her heartbeat was now running at hyper speed, her head was pounding, she was having a hard time catching her breath and her skin felt clammy. Was she having a heart attack? She shook her head. _Dana! You are having another panic attack!_ A voice within her said.

Instead of continuing to Ethan's room, she made a sudden turn and hurried her stride. She was _not_ going to have a fully-blown panic attack in front of the ward staff if she could help it. She walked fast, trying to somehow keep the attack at bay, at least until she could find her hiding place.

She saw the narrow green door looming a few more steps from her. _Please be open,_ she pleaded in her mind. She was reaching the end of her tether when she finally arrived at the closet. She anxiously tugged at the handle and to her great relief it gave way. She nearly collapsed into the tiny closet. She shut the door behind her and expertly slung a broom through the handle so people won't be able to open it from the outside. Her head was spinning and her breathing was becoming more labored. Her eyes darted around the closet shelves in a crazed frenzy searching for some form of bag. She found none, so instead she tore through a pack of surgical gloves, turned the first glove she grabbed inside out and shoved it over her mouth and nose, albeit its strong rubbery whiff attacking her nostrils. She slumped to the floor and leaned hard on the uncomfortable shelves, too weak to support her own body weight at that stage.

Gradually her symptoms subsided. First the tingling sensation in her hands diminished, and gradually her heart rhythm calmed to a regular steady beat and her breathing returned to normal. She felt exhausted, as if she had run a state's marathon. Every muscle in her body ached and she had no idea if she could find the strength to pick herself off of the floor. She rubbed her temples, and got to thinking about what had just happened. It didn't make any sense to her. She was making silly mistakes and she was seeing things or not seeing them, and she was having strange sensations of fear and desperation. She couldn't be so out of control. She didn't feel out of control at that moment. She almost felt… sane, and that was despite the fact that she was sitting on the floor of a supply closet.

The drastic changes in her emotions felt odd. Right now she couldn't understand why she went overboard just as she approached Brylee Sanders' room. This wasn't the first time she had to support a dying child and a pissed-off grieving parent.

Something wasn't right.

She realized that this was the first clear thought she'd had all day. The first logical notion. The only problem was, she couldn't explain _what_ was wrong. She only knew that it was. Her first inclination was to call the _one_ person who would understand what she was talking about. Then she thought better of it. What could Mulder actually do with this information? He wasn't working on the X-Files anymore. Worse, possibly if she told him that she felt something was not alright with her, he might get all overprotective or even more paranoid. He might go into fully-blown mania trying to help her, thereby destroying himself in the process.

Unable to resolve the issue and aware that she was still needed on the ward, Scully gathered her meager strength and pulled herself to an upright position. She quietly removed the broom that held the door shut and exited her tiny recluse.

Despite her rather shabby appearance, Scully felt she was now able to tackle the issue of Ethan Wallace. With new-found enthusiasm, she strode confidently to Ethan's room. She didn't even think about Brylee or her mom as she passed by their cubicle. She knocked on Ethan Wallace's door and without waiting for a response, entered.

John Wallace seemed surprised. "Dr. Scully. I'd thought you'd given up on us."

His accusation didn't make her flinch. She took it in stride. "Doctors' days tend to be somewhat unexpected, Mr. Wallace."

"If you say so," John Wallace wasn't too happy with her response.

Scully gave him a curt smile, then pulled up a chair and sat with the parents. Young Ethan was fast asleep which was just as well. "So, after running all the tests, I'm afraid to say that it's possible the tumor has metastasized."

"Possible?" Lillian interjected. "What do you mean, possible? You're not sure?"

Lillian's reaction was to be expected and Scully dove into the explanation. "First of all, medicine is not an exact science. There's a lot we are still learning and many things we are still unable to explain. In Ethan's case the scans did not show metastases, but his blood work indicated otherwise, so my assumption is that the tumor is spreading but the new growths are not large enough to be clearly seen in the imaging." Scully took in both parents' distressed reactions; Lillian holding her hand over her mouth, her eyes agape, moisture beginning to form in their corners and John, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry about all of this. If Ethan's tumor is spreading, then I'm afraid that the disease is now considered terminal." Deeper shock was now setting into the parents' stance as Scully proceeded with her grim predictions. "Without treatment, I believe Ethan won't have more than two months."

"Oh Lord," John blurted. "And if he gets treatment?"

"Well…" Scully was about to reply and explain treatment possibilities when a sudden strange feeling rushed through her. "Uhmm…" she suddenly couldn't find the right words. Everything was clearly slated in her mind just a flicker of a second ago and now she felt muddled and unsure. What was she about to tell them? She felt fear lurking within her, ready to snap at any moment. What was happening to her? She was fine just a minute ago. She was holding her own, completely in her element just like she usually was and suddenly she was reduced to a blabbering git. She looked up at the expectant stares of Ethan's anguished parents and felt her expression mirroring theirs. _Oh No._ She was supposed to provide them with answers and suddenly she had none.

She returned her gaze to the chart she was holding, opened it and pretended to read it. She tried to stall until her brain came back to its senses. She stared at Ethan's test results and as she bore her gaze into them, the letters and numbers started to swim out of focus. She felt faint as a bout of dizziness took her over. The text in the chart was now almost completely illegible to her. She blinked, hoping she could somehow re-focus both her sight and her brain but the dizzy spell was getting worse and she let out an involuntary moan of despair.

"Doctor? Are you alright?"

In the back of her mind, Scully registered that this was the third time today that she was asked this question and it was really getting old. Then, as if things weren't bad enough as it were, the dizziness now brought its best friend to join in the fun; good old nausea. _Oh hell!_ Why was this happening to her?

"I—I'm s-sorry," she didn't recognize her own voice. It sounded frail and shaky. It was obvious that she couldn't continue the discussion in her current condition. She tried to get up. The sudden movement made her lose her balance and she sagged to her right. This only served to enhance the woozy feeling afflicting her.

"Doctor?!" the, now, incredulous voices of both Lillian and John converged onto her as they lunged to steady her and prevent her from crumpling to the floor.

John grabbed her with such intent, his grip made her wince in pain.

"Sorry," Ethan's father said as he lessened his hold on her and helped her back into the chair.

She felt breathless. "I—"

"Shshsh…" Lillian cut through her attempt to speak. "You're not well. Don't exert yourself. I'll get help."

Scully gave in. She felt too weak to argue. She could feel John's strong hand patting her back, obviously trying to help her as best he understood. It was a humbling experience. She was supposed to be this omnipotent figure, the Goddess come to save the day, the fearless and all-knowing doctor. They were supposed to be the grateful worshippers, thankful for their benevolent Goddess. Instead, the roles were now reversed and she was basically at their mercy, as she sat there, unable to even move away and save what little was left of her dignity.

The door to Ethan's room burst open and Scully could hear somebody approaching her with great hurry.

"Dr. Scully?" it was Janice, one if the ward's charge nurses. "What's wrong? Mrs. Wallace here was saying you collapsed?"

Scully was about to answer when John did it for her. "She almost fainted."

Janice now crouched before her. "Honey? What's wrong?" she reached out and grabbed Scully's arm. Scully resisted the urge to pull it back. The nurse, expertly, traced her wrist and located the radial artery and took her pulse. "Your pulse is racing," she stated what was already a known fact for Scully. "C'mon, sweetheart, I'll help you," she said as she took hold of Scully's arm and with John Wallace's assistance, she managed to get her into an erect position. "Don't you worry now. You just lean on me and I'll get you to a room where you can rest and maybe one of the other doctors should have a look at you, ey?"

_Oh brother._ That was the last thing she needed. To be examined by one of her colleagues. _What a fucking mess,_ she thought as she was paraded through the ward, barely managing to keep a semi-upright position while the nurse guided her to the nearest exam room.

'The walk of shame' seemed to last forever. Scully took comfort in the fact that she was so weak, she wasn't able to keep her head up; she had no idea who was witnessing the ordeal. For the most part nobody uttered a word, but she did hear somebody snickering from behind and muttering quietly "How the mighty have fallen". Scully knew that voice. It was Miranda Sanders. She felt properly humiliated now and her head bowed even lower.

They finally arrived at one of the empty exam rooms. Janice helped her get on the bed and fussed about getting her a blanket and a cup of tea. Scully wanted her to just leave.

"I think Dr. Slater's here. I'll ask him to hop in and get a look at you," the nurse said as she stood at the door.

_Good God! No! Not Slater_! Actually, she didn't want _any_ of the doctors near her. Her instinct was telling her this wasn't a matter for a doctor to handle anyway. "Janice," she called out to her.

"What darling?"

"Could you just call me a cab?"

"What?" the nurse seemed dumbfounded. "Why?"

"I… I just want to go home. Get some rest. That's all."

Janice turned to face her, her demeanor told Scully that she disapproved of her request. "I really think someone should examine you. You're so pale and you can barely support yourself."

"I'm just exhausted. Haven't been sleeping too well…" She pleaded Janice in her mind to let her off the hook.

Janice harrumphed. "As you wish. I'll get you a cab."

Scully gave her a pitiful excuse for a smile and the nurse left. As she was closing the door behind her, Scully could hear her muttering "Doctors. Sheesh".

By the time Janice returned to inform her that her cab had arrived, Scully felt somewhat recovered. She even debated the possibility of staying at work working on some paperwork, but when she looked at Janice's disapproving expression, she decided that it would truly be pushing it.

The nurse had sent somebody up to get her bag and jacket and as she handed Scully her stuff she mentioned to her that she'd forgotten to lock her office up.

"Really?" She wasn't quite sure of anything after today. If the cab wasn't already waiting for her, she would have rushed upstairs to check that nothing was taken, but there was no time. She hoped that it was just something she forgot to do and not another incident of somebody rearranging her personal belongings.

She had to endure Janice's company a little longer, as the dutiful nurse insisted on accompanying her to the cab.

When the cab door closed behind her and she saw Janice's form getting smaller in the distance, Scully finally let herself fall back into the cab seat, hoping for an uneventful journey home.


	6. Part Six

The scent of the grilled cheese seemed very enticing after not having eaten much since breakfast. He gave the chunk of toast a healthy bite and savored the flavors as he chewed. He was definitely a man of simple pleasures and it didn't take too much to make him content. A TV, a couch, a laptop, wi-fi and a packet of sunflower seeds and he would live happily ever after.

With the toast in his mouth, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and with his other hand he opened the fridge and took the last carton of tropical juice out. He set the glass on the counter and tore the carton open. As he began pouring he heard the sound of a car approaching the house. He frowned. He wasn't expecting anybody and besides, nobody could enter the yard without him first letting them in at the main gate. The only other person who had the gate keys was Scully and that was definitely not her car.

Now suspicious, Mulder put the juice carton back on the counter, and with the toast still stuck in his mouth, he padded quietly to the front porch window and peered through the curtains.

There was a cab parked in front of their house and from that cab Scully emerged, well, it was Scully but she looked like… Fox Mulder cringed. She looked awful. She was once again early and this time she didn't even drive home. He was afraid to think what had happened to her car.

He gave her a scrutinizing look; she didn't appear injured, she just seemed extremely fatigued, her face the color of chalk, her eyes dull and sunken, her hair matted and untidy, her blouse partially tucked, and her step slow and tired, as if she couldn't carry herself.

He plucked the toast from his mouth and left it on the window sill and then unlocked the door and rushed to give her a hand. She didn't even look up at him. Instead she stared at the ground. When he reached her side, he tried to put his hand around her waist, for support, but she desperately tried to wriggle out of his hold. He didn't let her, but her reaction peeved him. How far was she willing to go with this martyr act of hers? She was collapsing before his eyes, yet she seemed more willing to turn into a pile of mush, than to allow him to help her.

"Don't fight me, Scully!" He held her even tighter as they slowly traversed the three steps to their porch. She ceased her resistance and instead gave in and let her entire body weight be carried by him.

He got her into the house and kicked the door shut, then proceeded to land her on their sofa. She crashed into it like a sack of potatos, not even trying to break her fall, or to move to a more comfortable position.

He stood by and regarded her with concern. He hadn't a clue what was wrong with her; if it was mental or physical or possibly both. She was acting strange and she was so unwell, and it all happened so fast, it was scary.

Maybe he would just help her out of those boots, he thought and bent down before her. He unzipped the right boot and with a slight upward tilt pulled it off of her. She didn't react. He proceeded with the left one, then took her socks off, and with a grunt hefted himself back to a standing position. Scully was still slumped on the sofa, her eyes shut, looking as if she'd been through the wars.

"Maybe you should lie down, Scully, and take a nap." He told her.

Nothing. No response whatsoever. He assumed she was already sleeping.

He gently grabbed hold of her shoulders, got her to lie down and then pulled her legs up. He covered her with the throw they kept on the couch, and then he sat on the opposing recliner and studied her.

As he took in her haggard features, he realized she was wearing a heavy coat of makeup, far heavier than usual. The makeup was now smeared and instead of concealing the dark patches around her eyes, the mixture of makeup and eyeliner gave Scully's eye a somewhat gothic appearance. Her usually meticulous hair, of which each strand stood in line as if scared to break formation, was now strewn all over the sofa in a most irregular disorderly fashion. This was so unbecoming of a person such as Scully. She was the epitome of tidy, organized, and of wits about her. He could accept a certain level of fatigue, even from her, but it was more up _his_ alley to run himself down until he ceased functioning. Scully would never stoop this low. He couldn't accept this. It had to be something external. He just had to get her talking. He was sure this would give him a clue to what she was dealing with.

He ran an entire conversation with her in his mind. Of course, in his mind she listened to him and things worked out perfectly. Somehow he had a feeling that in real life it won't be that simple.

When she didn't seem to be waking up, he decided to have something to drink and to try and get some more reading done. He pushed himself up just as Scully moaned. Taken aback, he dropped back into the seat. "Scully?" Was she waking up?

She stirred. Mulder bore his eyes into her, and waited for her to become aware. Her eyelids fluttered and she slowly opened them, revealing a pair of dim blue eyes. Mulder couldn't resist letting out a sigh.

"Hey," he said quietly and smiled.

"Mulder?" her eyes widened. "Wha—what am I doing here?"

He screwed up his face. "I believe you live here." He went for the lighter approach, despite really wanting to lunge at her with a verbal lashing.

She huffed. "Seriously, how did I get here?"

He gave her a stern look. "You don’t remember?" Was this a new symptom he should worry about? Amnesia?

She slowly got up to a sitting position. "I- I'm not sure…"

Mulder winced as he noted the confusion marring her face. "A cab brought you home, Scully. Do you know why?"

Her mystified expression deepened.

"What happened to your car?" he pushed further.

"My car?" she still seemed unable to piece the puzzle.

"Yes. You know; that thing with four wheels you drive every day to work with?" _Watch it now; you are beginning to lose it._

At least for that he received a glower. She was still in there.

"Scully? Car?" he prompted her

"My car… right… I left it at the hospital, I think."

"You _think_?"

She held her hand to her face. "I'm sorry Mulder. I'm having trouble thinking straight."

"I'll say," he muttered quietly. He'd never seen her so dazed. It was so not like her. He should probably take her to see a doctor because this wasn't normal.

"I'm going to get a cab and we'll go back to the hospital. I think somebody should have a look at you."

"No."

Mulder blinked. "No?!" What the hell did she mean? No? He was so fed up of this spiel; of her not letting him do anything for her, while she insisted on doing everything for him.

She straightened herself and then folded her legs under her. "Mulder, I'm just tired—"

He bolted up, feeling rage take over his will to soften his blow. "That's fucking bullshit, Scully!" He approached her and stared down, eyes ablaze. "I don't want you to give me any more of these lame excuses. As far as I know, I'm not stupid, and I think _you_ of all people should agree that when a person such as yourself turns from beauty into the beast in a mere three days, that I'd be capable enough to figure that something is way off, and that's Way with a capital W, Scully, do you get me?!" Oh yes, he was on a definite roll here.

She opened her mouth in obvious protest, but he didn’t let her speak.

"Ah-ah! If you are going to tell me that 'it’s nothing', or that you're fine or that it's just a problem at work, you might as well not speak at all. I won't accept that. I won't."

"But—"

"No buts!" he hissed. "This is not normal behavior, and I mean not only for a super organized, OCD-like, person such as you. This isn't normal behavior for anybody." He glared at her. She responded with an angry scowl. "Look, if I was behaving so out of it like you've been going on, you'd have tied me down to a bed, or worse, had me committed."

"I don't need this now, Mulder," she told him and made an attempt to get up from the couch, but as she was half way up, she began stooping to the right, and she assumed such a shocked expression; it was quite clear that she didn't expect this to happen. He dove at her and caught her before she fell to the ground, and then gently helped her back to the couch.

She covered her face with her hands, her huddled form sending a message of shame and defeat. Her sight gave him sheer agony. He fumed at her for not sharing with him, yet he couldn't bear seeing her so distraught. She was a proud woman, and to feel this helpless was so degrading for her, this alone made him feel awful. He slumped beside her. "Look. I know you don't like asking for help. I understand it all too well, and I'd much rather have you supporting me than the other way round, but I believe that this is something out of your control, so if this is any consolation, please don't feel so bad."

When she didn’t respond, he turned his head and looked at her. She hadn’t changed her position and he became concerned. “Scully? You OK?”

“Yes,” she answered quietly and let her hands fall from her face to her lap.

“What’s going on, then?” he asked quietly, hoping she had come to her senses.

She sighed. “Look, Mulder, I really don’t want you to worry about this—“

His anger returned, and he slammed his hands on his knees. “’This’?! Scully, what is ‘this’ that I shouldn’t worry about exactly? And by the way, you have failed miserably in the ‘do not get Fox Mulder worried department’, because I am worried _sick_ about you right now. Look at you! You can’t even stand up. You look like you’re deathly ill, you had a wacked-out panic attack, not to mention those creepy nightmares. I’m not willing to play a bystander anymore and watch you spiral out of control!”

He’d hoped she would react to his tirade appropriately. That she’d lash out back at him. She didn’t. Instead she remained still and didn’t utter a word and this only made him reach boiling point. “I don’t get you! Scully! I want to help! Dammit. You are so fucking stubborn, it’s downright stupid, you know it?!”

Nothing.

He got up fuming and walked towards the living room windows, then he walked towards her again feeling he’d go crazy if she kept with the silent treatment. He felt like kicking or punching something. His hands balled into fists, knuckles whitening. He was going to explode when suddenly something dawned on him. It was the last thing Scully had said to him before she turned into this frozen statue. He turned to face her, “Scully? Is this all because you are trying to protect me?”

He watched her face crumple, as if upset at being found out. Everything fell into place. All this time; her keeping him out of the loop; not because she didn’t feel anything for him anymore, but the complete opposite. He didn’t know if he should yell at her for doing this, or hug her.

He stooped before her, and looked up into her eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” she let out a huff. “Mulder, you know why.”

He sighed and got up. “Don’t you think this is somewhat unfair?”

She leaned back into the sofa. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Now he was annoyed. “Wrong, Scully! You did!”

“I know that’s how you think and I knew you wouldn’t understand, but it was the better of two evils, Mulder.”

“How is this better?”

“I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

 _God!_ “I think you owe me an explanation, then.” She was treating him like a child and he was pissed.

He looked down at her, seeing the discomfort her body language was emanating; the slight fidgeting, the aversion of eyes, the kneading of her palms. Despite seeing her at such unease, he wasn’t willing to let her off the hook.

“Mulder…”

“Explanation, Scully.” He wasn’t going to adhere to her pleading.

Her shoulders slumped and Mulder knew she was giving in. “You are so stubborn.”

He snorted. “You’re not exactly the complying type, either.”

She now looked up at him and something about her eyes registered in his mind. Their gleam had returned. Just a half hour ago Scully seemed wilted and sickly, and now she seemed invigorated. It was a drastic transformation, and it didn’t seem right to him. He had to stow that thought in the back of his mind for later use, though, as he noted Scully was finally ready to _really_ talk with him.

“Mulder, you know that you are truly the only person I care for like this. You matter so much to me and I don’t want to ever be without you.”

Now his heart fluttered. It had been so long since she’d spoken to him in this fashion, it hurt.

“But when we ran away to New Mexico you were broken. I don’t know if it was something they had done to you in that prison cell, or something that happened when you were in hiding, or if this was a PTSD reaction to everything that you had gone through. You were so dysfunctional and I couldn’t bear seeing you this way. And it just kept getting worse. I wasn’t able to get you any professional help and you were deteriorating. You were hardly sleeping due to terrible nightmares and during the day you were talking with phantoms. It was scary to watch you in such a state.”

Mulder winced at the memory. He was so much better now, but those days still made his spine quiver.

“And you tried to be supportive of me, despite the fact that you were almost too far gone, and in the beginning, when I still hadn’t the slightest idea just how bad your condition was, I still shared my feelings with you. I was having my own problems. Being fugitives was taking its toll, missing William, being scared for our lives… I needed s shoulder and you were it.”

He nodded and smiled gently.

“But the more I bore my heart before you, the harder you took it. You slept even less. There were days you were so out of it, living in an imaginary world you’d created. I’d eventually realized that you were now suffering my pain and not just yours. You are so sensitive, Mulder, you aren’t capable of just listening and moving on, and as you were so messed up, this just played right into your already convoluted psyche and I felt you were slipping from reality and very soon there would be no way to reach you.” She sniveled. “I had to make a decision that I believed would save you from complete insanity. I decided that however it pained me and despite truly needing your shoulder, that I had to stop adding to your burden, and I forced myself to leave you out of my worries and doubts and fears.” There was a trail of glistening tears now rolling down her cheeks.

Mulder knew she was right about everything she was saying, but he differed in opinion regarding one issue. “Scully, I understand what you had to do back then, but I am so much better now. So many years have passed and I believe I can handle things a lot better than I did then.”

Scully gave him a wan smile. “Can you, Mulder? Really? Because you have shut yourself in this house and you are building this lair of paranoia around yourself as we speak and I fear you are once again standing on a precipice, and all you need is that tiny shove and you will be gone. And I don’t think I would be able to live with myself if this were to happen.”

He took in her anguished features. She was carrying so much pain on her own. How on Earth had she managed so far? Maybe this was why she was now collapsing. Maybe she had reached her breaking point.

“Scully, I guess I can’t promise you that I won’t go overboard. I just feel that you have to trust me about this, and that I will cope. Watching you for the past few days, I’m telling you, my gut is doing somersaults right now, and you know that my gut usually knows what it’s doing.”

He was rewarded with a genuine smile this time, and he responded akin.

She patted the empty space on the sofa, and nudged her chin at him. He hopped beside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and he could literally feel as the tension in her body disappeared. He didn’t want that moment to end but they still had to talk about what was actually going on with her. He was glad he’d managed to get through the biggest obstacle of all. He felt that it would be smooth sailing from now on. At least he hoped it would be.

They sat on the sofa in silence, embracing each other and Mulder felt the change in the air. It was a funny thought that ran through his mind. He believed he could actually feel Scully’s warmth oozing on him. It was like there was eternal winter in that little home of theirs and Aslan had come and broken the White Queen’s curse. He laughed at himself inwardly. Had he suddenly become this sentimental guy? All that was needed was for Scully to be Scully again and he turned into silly dough? _Jeez, Mulder._ But he felt this couldn’t be helped.

He turned to face her. “Are you hungry?” he felt his face turn into a silly grin.

She drew a deep breath. “Yes.” She breathed out. “I’m… very hungry actually. I’ve hardly had a bite all day and what I did have was gobbled down. I’m not sure I actually had time to enjoy it.”

He grinned, and got up. “I’ll rustle us something to eat then.”

She laughed and he savored the moment. It had been a while.

“Mulder, you don’t exactly fit in with the rustling type, you know.”

“Trust, Scully. That’s what I’m talking about.” He smirked.

“A-ha. Trust indeed. Mulder, I trust the fact that we’d both end up with the runs.”

“Really, Scully, you have such a low opinion of my cooking skills?” he feigned insult.

She snorted. “ _What_ cooking skills?”

“If you really want to know, I happen to be known to make a mean slice of toast with grilled cheese.”

She wore a beatific expression and he felt as if enchanted by her. The silly cliché of lost and now found came running down his mind. It was indeed just that.

She smacked her lips. “Toast with grilled cheese sounds tantalizing, Mulder.”

He laughed. “Be ready to be tantalized, then.”

He was now in their kitchen, moving about and getting the necessary ingredients for his 'brilliant' cuisine; snapping the breadbox open and taking out the whole-grain loaf from yesterday's grocery order; popping the fridge open and grabbing the cheese; turning on the toaster oven, making sure it was set on grille and taking out two plates for the up-and-coming toast. A silly notion of him as snow-white hopping about the kitchen with birds chirping sneaked into his mind and he was almost appalled that he'd stoop this low, but he did feel a bit like this busy hen.

From the living room, Scully called out to him. "I'll come join you and I promise not to say a word."

 _Oh no._ She really shouldn't get up. The last time she did that, she was lucky he was right beside her when she almost fainted. Now, if she came crashing down, he wasn't sure he'd make it on time. "No! Scully! You might—"

"I might what?" she asked, innocently, as she rose and began walking towards him, nary a waddle in sight.

His eyes widened and his sixth sense was on red alert. Just a short while ago she could barely stand up, her thoughts were muddled and she seemed ill. Now she still appeared somewhat disorderly but she had all her wits back with her, her strength had returned and her complexion seemed lively again. This didn't seem right to him and he was certain that, even though he knew certain moods could affect a person's well-being, that this was more than what a cheery frame of mind could conjure.

Scully was now beside him and staring at him with concern. "Mulder? What is it?"

He grimaced, annoyed that reality was seeping into the little fantasy he'd concocted in his mind, but it was inevitable. "Scully, you know how you were when you came home?"

"I was a mess" she pointed out bluntly. At least she wasn't hiding behind excuses anymore.

He nodded assent. "And now you aren't."

She took her place at the table. "And that's a bad thing because?"

"It's just strange."

She seemed to ponder his words as she didn't respond immediately. "You're right," she finally said and he noticed her features becoming somber.

The cheerful moment was over. It was now time to find out what was going on.

He finished preparing the slices of bread and cheese and shoved them into the toaster oven, then filled two glasses with mineral water and set them on the table. As the cheese began to melt, he sat opposite Scully and looked her in the eye. "OK. Tell me what's going on."

She seemed apprehensive and Mulder was worried she'd go back to the tight-lipped person she was just a mere hour ago, but then she opened her mouth and began telling her tale, and it was one hell of a tale.

He listened as she described the stealing of her lab coat, the rearranging of the dolls in her office, the grizzly details of her nightmares and the events from her day at work until she arrived home in that incoherent state she was in. By the end of her detail, the hair on his back was standing. He was pissed at Scully for keeping all of this from him up until now. She was going through something very unusual and scary and yet she preferred he didn't know because she thought she was protecting him. But he couldn't yell at her. They'd already discussed this and they were on a new page in their book, or rather, they'd returned to the old pages. It was time he did something for her after all she had done for him. Certainly, making her feel bad about herself wasn't the right approach.

The smell of melting cheese filled his nostrils and he quickly turned the oven off, grabbed a towel, picked each slice and plopped it on each of their plates.

They munched the food in silence for a while. He needed time to process Scully's story. He was certain there was probably more going on, and that Scully, possibly, didn't make the connection. It was hard to see clear when the problem revolved around oneself, and especially since Scully was having such a hard time trusting her own senses as a result of what was happening to her.

"Mulder?"

"Mmmm?"

"You have any thoughts about all of this?" she asked and then popped the final chunk of toast into her mouth.

He had a ton of ideas but nothing truly stuck. "Not yet," he admitted. "If you had to make a guess, what would be your take on this?"

She snickered. "First thing that comes to mind?"

He nodded, awaiting her input.

"Dana Katherine Scully has finally gone off her rocker."

He laughed at her remark, then turned serious again. "But you don't think that's the reason, right? Because you don't think you could ever go crazy." Now slight criticism lined his tone.

She gave him a disapproving scowl. "I'm not all that high and mighty, Mulder. It's just that it's all too sudden and it comes and goes, as if somebody was pushing a button or something. As far as I understand madness, it has to be something cataclysmic to bring it on so suddenly, or it is something that builds over time. None of these are relevant in my case."

He had to agree. "OK. I grant you that."

She harrumphed. "Why, thank you, sir."

"OK, I guess I deserved that." He sniggered.

Both her eyebrows rose, her mouth formed a tiny sardonic smirk and she nodded her head in agreement.

He responded with a pitiful pout, the kind he used to soften her blows with, and she was totally defenseless against it, every single time. His magic worked its charm and her stance softened and he felt he could go back to the more serious matters at hand. "So, we've established that this is probably not a mental issue. Any other thoughts?"

She sighed, seemingly disappointed at having to return to discussing her grim situation. "Well… It may be a sign of a brain tumor, or something else brain-related like an infection."

He felt his heart drop to his pants. It did make sense. He should have thought about this himself but for obvious reasons, he avoided that path. He gulped and winced all at once.

She gave him a disconsolate look. "I can't _not_ go there, Mulder," she told him. "I'm definitely having visual hallucinations and these can be attributed to a cerebral cause."

He wasn't convinced. "What about the nightmares and the panic attacks?"

"They, too, can be related to a brain disorder, affecting other mechanisms in the body, triggering sudden unrelated bodily responses by flooding the body with natural chemicals such as endorphins or adrenaline at the wrong time, thus evoking such responses similar to fight or flight, fear, stress and so on."

The cold clinical tone she spoke with was painful for him to listen to. She was talking about her own body, yet she seemed so detached, as if what she'd been speaking to him about had nothing to do with her.

As much as it pained him, he had to address that line of thought. "So how would you proceed if you were the doctor on your case?"

"CT scan and labs to test for tumor markers for starters."

So it must be, then. They had to either prove or disprove this theory. "How soon could you have these done?"

She gave that some thought. "I don’t know. I'm not too keen on having these tests done at work. The rumor mill can spread for miles, if you catch my drift, but on the other hand, it might take longer to schedule the scan at another facility."

"I know how you value your privacy, Scully, but I think in this case, since your 'symptoms' are getting worse, you shouldn't delay this. I think you should call in a favor and try to have everything scheduled for tomorrow."

He noted the cloud washing over her face and he realized this wasn't an easy feat for her to carry out. "I was hoping to take a few days off work after today. I thought that resting should resolve things."

He felt bad for her. "You don't have to go to work then, just have the scan and lab tests and go home."

"I guess I can do that," she said half-heartedly.

More silence ensued. This time a quiet glum pause. Scully assumed a sullen look and he felt he was mirroring her expression. He stretched his arm across the kitchen table and she responded in such, her palm now threading into his. He loved the feeling of her soft skin touching his. He rubbed her palm and squeezed it, unwilling to let it go. They remained seated, both in deep thought.

At some point, Mulder recalled his initial reaction to her odd behavior and a tiny smile played across his lips. This wasn't lost on Scully, who became curious.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing really." But he knew he'd opened Pandora's Box with that mischievous smirk of his and that Scully wouldn't relent until he spilled the beans.

"Mulder?" her eyebrow arched as it usually did when her skepticism took over, which was many a time, he mused fondly.

"OK, OK. But you have to promise not to shoot me."

She put her arms up with assumed innocence. "No gun, remember?"

Her amused expression sort of made up for the fact that she had retrieved her hand from his grasp, but as he looked at the shine her features took, he wondered if he should tell her his initial thoughts. She stared at him with anticipation and he couldn't allow the pause to go full term, so he decided to partially reveal his notions. "I… thought you were… pregnant." It did feel like dropping a bomb.

He was watching her face intently, trying to perceive her reaction. It was a combination of revelation and contemplation that played across her face. Obviously she hadn't thought about this option and Mulder knew this was due to the fact that she wasn't herself, and she was now giving it thought, but what she had in her mind, only she could reveal. Now he was beginning to feel impatient as she kept him in the dark. "Well?"

She swallowed. "Wow, Mulder." She leaned back in her chair. "There's so much I want to say. It's just… hard for me."

He gave her a gentle smile. "I can imagine."

She massaged her right brow absent-mindedly. "If I wasn't the woman in question, your assumption could make sense."

"But?"

"But, we have been sexually active for years and nothing had evolved from that."

"But?"

"But… there's William. It's a funny thing to say but it was inconceivable that he was conceived, yet he was."

He nodded. Indeed he was.

"I don't know what to say, except that maybe I should add a pregnancy test to my labs tomorrow."

He nodded agreement, then got up and began collecting the dirty dishes and cleaning up. He looked back at her from his position by the sink. She was gazing at an obscure point in the wall, deep in thought. He had a twinge of guilt but she took his suggestion with good spirit and she didn't seem upset or sad so he forced himself to get over the guilt trip and move further. "Are you up for a walk, maybe?" he asked her.

She heaved a deep sigh. "Not today. I'm beat."

He nodded. It was expected. "OK, I'll put a movie on for the both of us."

She smiled.

That was good enough for him.


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Somewhat gruesome depictions in this part.

 "You know what?" Brylee Sanders asked.

"What?" Scully wondered why she was with Brylee in a playground. She was certain they both had to be someplace else.

The girl produced a lollipop out of thin air and Scully was even more confused.

"This is for you." She uttered gleefully and handed her the piece of candy.

She smiled at the joyous girl and took the sweet. She wanted to pocket it but it had no cover and she didn't want her pocket to get all sticky, so she just stood there with the lollipop in her hand and wondered what to do next.

It was Brylee who told her what to do. "You're s'posed to lick it, Dr. Scully."

Not wanting to offend the child, Scully began licking the candy, all the while thinking it was odd that Brylee was addressing her so formally. "You know you can call me Dana."

"I know," Brylee said, but didn't elaborate any further.

She continued licking the sweet and wondering how she had arrived in that garden. As she pondered the situation she followed Brylee around through the playground.

The child had found a piece of chalk and had begun drawing hopscotch squares on the concrete path that meandered through the playground. Once she had completed the drawing, she grabbed a pebble from the ground, and began tossing it and jumping back and forth. All of a sudden she looked up at Scully. "Dr. Scully, now you look more like yourself."

Scully felt her right eyebrow arching, and her face twitching as she tried to figure out what the child was referring to, when she suddenly got a glimpse of her arms. They were covered with green pustules and the pustules were multiplying by the millisecond before her very eyes. To add insult to injury, she also felt possessed by a terrible need to scratch the gross puss-filled blobs. Despite feeling repelled by their appearance and knowing full-well that scratching the horrid things would just make things worse, she wasn't able to resist the urge. She half-closed her eyes, then set her fingers free to dig into the gooey texture that was once her skin. The more she tore into her flesh, the stronger the urge became. In her mind she screamed at herself to cease the destruction of her body, but that same body would not obey.

She felt a strange high the more she scratched and at the same time she also felt panic and disgust and the opposing sensations made her heartbeat race. "Brylee," she cried out to the child through gasps and pants. "Get help!"

"You don't need help, Dr. Scully. You are doing very well on your own." The child said, matter-of-factly and resumed her game of hopscotch to Scully's unmitigated horror.

"Please," Scully pleaded with the child.

But Brylee seemed oblivious to her plight. She dashed further away from her and hopped on the first swing she happened upon, screeching with total delight, just as she used to do back in the day, when she was still undamaged by the illness and its treatment.

Her logic was still intact and it was telling her not to believe her senses. It was hard to do, though. She could smell the foul odor of rotting flesh as she looked down at her decaying body. She continued picking at her skin. Whole chunks of flesh tore away. Her fingers had lost their covering and the more she worked her way through her body the less skin and flesh protected it and patches of bone were revealed.

 _Think, Dana,_ she ordered herself. _This isn't real._ _You have to snap out of this!_

In the background Brylee was laughing with sheer joy, ignoring Scully. She gave up begging her for help and succumbed to her fate. She wanted the nightmare to end, yet it kept on going. She closed her eyes. As her eyelids met, she could feel tears escaping them, rolling along her cheeks. She sensed pain as the salty fluid hit her exposed sores. She released a cry of agony through clenched teeth. The torture refused to be gone.

"Scully! Wake up!"

She turned towards the voice. Who was calling her? She saw nobody, except for Brylee, who had now moved to the carousel. "Who is it?" she called to the disembodied voice.

"Open your eyes!" the voice ordered her.

She didn’t want to open them. She didn’t want to watch as she destroyed herself. “No!”

“You’re dreaming! You have to wake up.”

She felt somebody grab hold of her shoulders. That somebody was on top of her and he was shaking the hell out of her.

“Let me die!” she cried out.

“You’re not dying. You’re having a bad dream.” He shook her again. “For heaven’s sake! Open your goddamn eyes!”

The guy wouldn’t stop shaking her. Why wouldn’t he just leave her and let her dwindle away into oblivion? She drew in a deep breath, squinted her eyes, then forced herself to open them, scared to think of what was left of her body. But she had no time to delve on that subject because there was an even worse scene before her.

She now stared into the face of a man, or was it a creature? She couldn’t really tell. His skin seemed decayed, as if he were a corpse. His touch was cold, almost freezing. He smelt like mold and rotting flesh. But the worst part were his eyes. He had none. Only two gaping sockets filled with maggots. Some of the maggots were losing their grip as the creature/man/thing continued shaking her body. As the first maggot hit her body, she let out a horrified gasp. The next thing she heard were her own deathly shrieks as she tried to get the monster off of her. She kicked it with all her might and he let out a painful groan. Good! It felt pain and she was going to let it feel some more of that.

“Scully! Stop!”

 _No._ She wasn’t going to be fooled by his apparent human voice, albeit having a distinct familiar tone to it. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She wanted that thing off of her, and sooner rather than later. She pushed her knee up and the creature let out a painful yelp as her kneecap made contact with his abdomen.

“Scully! It’s Mulder! Stop kicking me!” the thing cried out in pain.

 _Mulder, my ass! Nice try!_ She gave it another kick, this time in its scrotum, and the impact made him recoil to the left and he let go of her right arm. Well, nice to know that zombie scrotums worked the same as human ones, she mused. Now, if she could just deliver a final blow and get the hell out here or at least get that creature out of her hair instead.

The thing still had a strong grip on her left arm and she realized it was preparing for its next move. She had to think fast. Glancing to her right she caught sight of the bed stand light. It was the closest she could conceive of for a makeshift weapon. She stretched her right arm and got hold of the lamp’s stand. She gripped it hard, then yanked it from the wall. The bedroom went dark as the lamp’s cable came out of its socket. _Good._ She wouldn’t have to look at his disfigured monster of a face as she hit him.

She could feel him moving beside her, repositioning. He was probably going to get back on top of her. It was her only chance. She flung the lamp as hard as she could at him, but he managed to break her strike. He caught the propelled object just as it neared his face.

_Fuck!_

“Ouch!” the creature cried.

Wait. That wasn’t a creature. She felt the tension in her muscles leave, and she plummeted back into her pillow. The room was dark but she finally realized she was in her bed, and that the so called ‘creature’ was…”Mulder!” _Oh Shit!_

She heard him exhale. “And hello to you, too.” His voice sounded hoarse.

Her heart was still racing and she began to shake as the adrenaline began to loosen its grip on her. What had she done? “What happened?”

“You. You happened.”

She felt lost. Just a moment ago she was certain her life was in grave danger and now she had no idea what made her believe such nonsense. “Mulder?”

“You went all gung-ho on me.”

“I’m sorry. I—“

“You thought I was somebody else.”

“More like _something_ else.”

She could hear the sheets rustling as he moved. There was a clicking sound and the room was flooded with orange light.

He turned back to face her. She now took in his haggard features. He seemed weary and he had a nasty gash above his left brow.

“You’re bleeding” they said in unison.

“What?” she was surprised by his remark.

“You’re covered in blood.” he told her.

She looked down at her hands. He wasn’t wrong. The bed seemed like a crime scene covered in crimson smears. Her fingers were coated with the sticky red substance and her arms appeared to have been scratched so badly until their skin gave way.

Mulder lifted his hand and he seemed about to touch her face. She recoiled from his touch, but he persisted. She could feel his warm finger tip caressing her cheek; then he brought his finger before her. She peered at it in disbelief. A red spot marred it. Was that from her face? Her hand flew to her cheek but she couldn’t tell if she was injured because of the stickiness of her already sodden palm. It was then that pain registered when she removed her fingers from her face. Her fingers felt glued to her cheek and pulling them away literally tore the ‘glue’ and pulled some skin cells with it. She let out an involuntary whimper.

“Go wash yourself up. I’ll fix the bed.” Mulder told her gently.

She felt like an automaton. She rose from the bed and padded softly to their adjoining bathroom. She was assaulted by her reflection in the mirror as she entered and she almost took a step back as she viewed her grizzly features. Her face was tarnished with scratches and blood. She couldn’t fathom that it was her own doing.

“Scully.”

She jumped with shock. Mulder was now right behind her. She hadn’t heard him approaching her. She was still coming to terms with her gruesome reflection.

“Sorry,” he told her.

She started as she felt him touching the small of her back, then forced herself to relax. He was only trying to help, she told herself.

He gently guided her into the bathroom, then stopped as they drew near the sink. With one hand still on her back, he used the other to pull the faucet up and to adjust the water. He then grabbed the nearest hand towel and shoved it into the water stream, removed it, squeezed it gently and then he moved to her side and applied the warm cloth to her face.

Pain consumed her as the supposedly soothing material met her exposed sores. She bit her lip as she forced herself to refrain from moaning in agony, but she couldn’t control every aspect of her reaction and her eyes squinted each time Mulder touched another aching spot on her face.

He moved swiftly and when he was done with the washcloth he opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a pack of steri-strips and applied a few to the larger gashes on her face and arms.

Once he was finished attending to her injuries, he tended to his own. She just kept on standing and staring at him, glued to the ground, unable to move.

"It's OK, Scully," he assured her. "You can go back to bed now." He told her as he was finishing with his facial dressing.

Like a dutiful robot, she turned on her heels and strode back to their now, freshly-made bed. As she sat on the bedside, she heard Mulder's footsteps approaching her. She looked up at his towering form as he gradually lowered himself to her level and proffered her a cup of water and a pill of Ambien. She gave him a quizzical peer.

"It's for the sake of my family jewels," he said and offered her a weary simper.

She felt herself responding with a nod as she took his offerings.

"You need a good night's sleep, Scully."

She had no argument for him and she downed the sleeping pill with a single gulp. He took the cup away and she got under the covers. Her eyes remained open and she stared at the ceiling. It was strange; despite all that had just happened, her mind seemed like a void. She had no lingering thoughts or feelings about her dream and its aftermath. She knew it was odd, but the pill was beginning to take its effect on her, and her eyelids slowly began to droop just as she felt a warm body snuggling beside her.

"Good night, Scully."

A tiny smile began forming in her mind, and then the room went dark as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

"It's always that girl, Brylee."

"What do you mean?" Scully screwed her face at Mulder as their cab turned into the hospital driveway.

"In your dreams." Mulder replied, then turned his face from her to gaze out of the window. The sun was setting and casting an amazing orange glow on the hospital's brick facade. The warm colors were very soothing, he mused.

"In my dreams?"

The cab came to a full stop and the driver turned to face them. "That will be twenty five dollars and thirty cents."

He peered sideways at Scully who seemed to read his mind and obediently opened her bag, dug her purse out and quickly plucked a fifty dollar bill from it. The driver grabbed the money, went through his stash and gave Scully the change. She gave him two dollars and then opened the cab door and got out. Mulder followed her lead and with two strides reached the spot where she was waiting for him.

She looked up at him. "What did you mean: 'in my dreams'?"

"That girl, Brylee. She's in all of your dreams," he answered as he walked towards the hospital lobby.

"So?"

He could hear her scurrying behind him, trying to match his step. "I'm just pointing out a fact."

She was now right beside him. "Stop beating about the bush, Mulder. I know there's a point lingering somewhere behind your so-called 'fact mentioning'."

He snorted. "Possibly."

They stopped by the elevators and as he looked down at her, she glared up at him, completely riled by his obnoxious attitude.

Teasing Scully was one of his favorite pastimes and it had been a while since he had the luxury of indulging in this rewarding activity. He wanted to savor every moment. Unfortunately, it seemed Scully wasn't quite in the mood, and she did have good reason.

She had ten more minutes before her meeting with her oncologist regarding the scans and tests they had discussed the day before. She seemed tense and despite having a long chemically-induced sleep, she still appeared fatigued. The fact that her face and arms were covered with cuts and scratches, the result of her nightmare, didn't help one bit. Mulder realized he had to stop pissing her off, or she might explode.

"I'm thinking this might not be a coincidence, that's all."

She gave him a crooked stare. "What? That a sick child I _happen_ to treat appears in my dreams?"

"Yes."

A couple approached the elevator and she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper. "Mulder, people dream about things from their everyday life, you know. I don't find this very unusual or of any significance here."

He was amused at how quickly they had fallen back into the old pattern of skeptic/believer. He had a hunch and he wanted to follow it through and for now, he felt it would be better for Scully if she remained in the dark. She had too much on her plate already. He figured he could go snooping around while she had her appointment. He resorted to his old tricks and abruptly changed the subject. "Scully, you don't really need me with you right now, right?" he asked as they entered the elevator.

"What?" she sounded surprised. "Mulder? What do you mean?"

"I want to check on something." He didn't want to look at her. He knew she had now switched to her irritable frown.

"On what?"

Oh yes, she was pissed, and he couldn't resist fanning the flames. "Oh, it's probably something of no significance." He said with feigned indifference.

The elevator doors parted on the third floor and they got out. He followed her along the corridor, noting that she had hurried her pace. Suddenly she halted and he almost ran into her. She turned around and this time he wasn't able to avoid her enraged scowl. She was almost a head shorter than him, but when she gave him that admonishing glare of hers, it made her seem much taller than she actually was.

"This is why I stopped sharing things with you, Mulder. You can't just listen and do nothing. No. You have to get involved and then you get hurt and I have to save you, and then I have to deal with the aftermath—"

"Whoa! Wait a minute! Aren't you jumping the gun just a little bit?" _Sheesh. Talk about mass hysteria._ "I'm not going to do anything rash, if that's what you're implying. I have a theory and I want to check on a few things, that's all."

She gave him a dubious stare. "You have a theory?"

He didn't want to reveal anything before he had more solid evidence. He had to get her off his back before she would grill him to death. "Not really."

"So what is this all about?" she demanded.

He needed a diversion. Something to send her off of his track and he needed it now. "Nothing. I... I just don't feel comfortable about going in with you. It's a private matter. I think I'll wait outside."

"That's what this is all about?" She sounded upset now.

He nodded, hoping she would bite the bullet.

"OK." She said with obvious dejection. "But it's going to take some time. I have a CT scan scheduled and an MRI. What will you do while I'm inside?"

 _Yes!_ She swallowed the hook, line and the whole damn sinker. Now for the final touch. "Do you mind if I'll wait in your office?"

"My office?"

He adored her frowned face, but he managed to catch himself before he let out a silly smirk. "You have a computer in your office, right?"

She gave him an incredulous glower. "It's not enough that you spend almost every waking millisecond on the laptop at home, you have to use my computer here as well?!"

"I'll just be a phone-call away if you'll need to hold my hand." _C'mon, Scully, set me free. It's for your own good._

Her eyes flared up and Mulder knew he'd gone too far. He had to appease her but he really needed some time to prowl the hospital grounds if he was to test his assumption. "OK. I'm sorry. I'm just not comfortable with all of this. I don't really need your computer, just a quiet place to wait for you."

Her stance softened and she opened her mouth to respond when they heard the sound of a door opening. Mulder almost let out a hearty sigh of relief.

"Dana Scully?" A black-haired woman wearing a doctor's coat peered from the open door.

"Yes? Dr. Granger?" Scully turned around and began walking towards her.

Mulder blinked and then rushed behind Scully and tapped her on her shoulder.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "What?!" She hissed through gritted teeth.

He gulped. "Your office keys?"

She rolled her eyes. "OK. Take them." Angry resignation filled her voice as she retrieved her keys from her bag. She shoved them warily into his stretched out palm and turned back towards the oncologist's office.

"Err, Scully?"

"Jeez!"

He swallowed hard. "Just need the room's location?"

She huffed. "Fifth floor, second room to the right. Can I _go_ now?"

"What about your computer password?" he asked sheepishly.

"Don't push your luck, Mulder!" she uttered, then entered the room and shut the door in his face, making it quite clear that she wasn't exactly pleased with him.

Mulder didn't waste time. He pocketed the keys Scully had left him and hurried back to the elevator. When it seemed that it was taking its time to arrive, he continued down the corridor until he found the emergency stairwell. He climbed two steps at a time and quickly located Scully's office once he had reached the fifth floor. His first item on the menu was those dolls Scully had mentioned. As he unlocked her office, he took in the bunch of gruesome looking homemade dolls and he recalled Scully's sentiment. She was spot on. There was something sinister about them. He closed the door behind him and went to get a closer look at the scruffy creations.

There were a dozen dolls; all had matted yellow wool strands for hair and blue buttons for eyes. The nose, mouth, eyebrows and eyelashes were all done in needlework. The dolls' bodies were stuffed and made of burlap and each doll was dressed with a different kind of fabric. Scully said that the fabric came from actual clothes Brylee used to wear.

He picked one of the dolls. Its stuffing felt soft, like classic pillow wadding. He turned it around and then he noted that there was a tear in the back of the doll’s head and some of the white foamy packing was sticking out of it. It seemed like somebody had cut through the burlap with a pair of scissors. He picked another doll. It, too, had a similar cut and as he went through the entire dozen it was clear that a pattern was emerging.

Somehow he had a feeling that when the dolls were originally given to Scully, they were intact. Scully did mention that somebody had rearranged the dolls a few days ago. He suspected that that same person had cut into the dolls, but for what purpose?

He dug deep into the first doll and began removing its filling. The polyester fluff gave him an itchy sensation as he plucked it out of the doll. At some point, as he was removing the filling from the third doll he found a thin shard of paper. He picked it up in his hands and examined it. The shard was finely cut but one side seemed torn. The paper was slightly thick. He believed it to be a cutting from a photo based on its thickness. He put the cutting in a safe place on Scully’s desk, and then resumed the doll-plucking process. When he was done with all twelve dolls, he had two more such shards.

Scully’s, once tidy office, now looked as if somebody had had a rough pillow fight in it and Mulder knew he had to get things in order before she came looking for him. He searched the cupboards until he found some plastic bags. He collected the stuffing in to two bags and the now empty doll casings in a third bag and placed them under her desk. He found a clean empty test tube in one of the drawers and shoved the three photo cuttings into it, and then he tucked it into his jacket pocket.

It was time for the next phase in his theory testing, but first he had to find out what Scully’s status was. He took his cell out of his pocket and stared at it. It was strange using a cellphone to call Scully. How many years had it been since he last called her on a cell? Was it six years? Scully kept a second cell at home just in case he did choose to venture out, but up until today he remained cooped up in their home and the phone remained in its charger. It was a model he had never used before. It was a lot smaller than the FBI-issued phones he used to carry in his jacket. This model actually fit into his pants' pocket. It was a flip phone which made him feel a bit like Captain Kirk and its screen had color. There was also a camera in the phone. If only they would have had cameras back in those days, he mused.

He shook his wrist, flipped the phone open and pressed hard and long on the Number Two button. The contraption rewarded him with the presence of Scully’s name on its screen. He held the device to his ear and waited for her to answer.

“Mulder?” her phone-muffled voice rang weird in his ears.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” he chuckled.

"What?" He could hear she was puzzled.

He tittered. "Nothing. Just amused with this phone you gave me."

"Oh. OK." Understanding dawned on her. "Where are you?"

"In your office, playing with your dolls," he teased.

" _What_ are you playing with?" bafflement resonated in her tone.

"Your dolls, Scully. I was giving them an extreme makeover." He braced himself for her retort.

"Mulder? What are you up to?"

"Nothing too exciting, just helping some dolls lose weight and returning them to their original slim figures."

There was silence on the other end of the line where a counter was obviously being formed; one which Mulder knew contained an extremely displeased tone. He waited for Scully's expected response patiently.

"Mulder, are you referring to the dolls Miranda Sanders gave me?" her attitude was filled with suspicion.

"Is Miranda, Brylee's mother?"

"Um-Hm," her suspicious manner didn't abate.

"So, yes, I'm referring to those dolls. How attached were you to them?" He suspected he knew what her answer would be.

"Mulder…"

"I have a feeling you wouldn't mind 'losing' them, now, would you?"

"Mulder—" she sounded upset.

"Don't worry, I didn't throw them away, and if you really want them back, we can sit together and have a lovely arts'n'crafts session. I've been watching some amazing YouTube videos at home. I think it would be a great opportunity to try and put this new-found knowledge to good use."

He could hear her letting out a desperate sigh on the other end of the line. "Mulder… It's not so much that I'm attached to them. It's just that they were a gift from the mother of my patient. What do I tell her if she pops by my office and sees that they're gone?"

He had already prepared an answer to her expected query. "You can always tell her that you adored her handiwork so much that you decided to take it home and put her creations on your mantelpiece."

"I guess so." Scully didn't sound too cheerful about his suggested solution.

"Besides Scully, you know what they say about Greeks and their gifts."

"Huh?" She sounded clueless. "Miranda isn't Greek, as far as I know."

"Maybe _she_ isn't, but her dolls were definitely Trojan."

"Trojan? Mulder, what are you implying?"

"There was more than chocolate in your Surprise Eggs, Scully."

"Dammit! I've had enough of your innuendos. Just spit out what you have in mind already!" she barked at him.

OK. Playtime was over. "I believe the dolls came with an added bonus. There was something in them when you received them."

"Was? What exactly?"

"I don't know. Not yet at least."

"So what are you basing your assumptions on?"

"When you received those dolls, did you happen to notice if they all had a cut in the back of their heads?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. After a few seconds she finally replied. "I don't remember. It's not like I was looking for something like this. It seemed like an innocent gesture at the time. What exactly did you find?"

"I am quite certain that there was something inside each of these dolls and that this item was retrieved recently, probably on the day you found the dolls had been rearranged." He told her.

More silence ensued as Scully processed this new information.

"Look, Mulder… What you're saying… She's the mother of a very sick child! You can’t just go accusing people like this—"

"I haven't accused anybody of anything. At least not yet."

"But what you're saying…" she trailed off.

"It might be nothing, Scully. I'm going to test my theory before I act upon it."

"Test your theory? Mulder! Don't! You can't go around the hospital making queries like this. You're not an FBI agent anymore. You could get arrested if you try poking too much into other people's business!"

He couldn't resist snickering at her expected rebuttal. If it were up to Scully, she would have had him cuffed, shackled, gagged and tethered to a chain slung around her waist. She'd be toting him wherever she'd go, making sure he was out of harm's way, for his own good sake and for the sake of the surrounding world.

"Mulder!" she yelled into the phone's speaker. "You there?! Mulder?"

"Yes, mom," she deserved that.

"Dammit Mulder!"

He sighed. "I promise not to get into trouble, OK?"

"Seriously, Mul—"

He disconnected before she continued her tirade. It was a pointless debate. He'd had such arguments with her a million times before and most probably she was right; whenever she told him to stir clear of trouble, he'd do the very opposite and end up in a hospital bed. The only good thing about this case was that he was already in a hospital anyway. He sniggered, virtually patting himself on his back for his wisecrack as he left Scully's office and headed for the elevators.

As he walked down the corridor he realized two things: Their conversation had ended so abruptly, he hadn't actually asked Scully how she was doing and how much longer she would be caught up with scans and tests. This meant he had no idea how much time he could spend on his theory-hunting before Scully got in the way. The other issue he realized was that he was headed for the pediatric oncology ward but he was clueless as to its whereabouts. Well, at least there was a simple solution for his second problem.

He entered the elevator and pressed the lobby button. A vibrating sensation jingled his rear and he realized it was his phone. It had to be Scully, since nobody else had this number. Despite desperately needing information from her, he chose to screen her. He knew she would just try to prevent him from pursuing his plan and that he would ignore her anyway, so he figured he might as well cut the middleman and go straight to the ignoring part and get it done with.

Once he'd reached the lobby floor, he headed to the information desk and got the location of Brylee's ward. He took the stairs to the second floor and casually patrolled along the corridor, all the while observing the ward's access method. There were two acceptable ways one could enter the ward: Staff had a card that served both as a nametag and as a key, while patients, relatives, friends and other non-personnel members had to use the intercom to gain access. He opted for the third, unofficial method, i.e., sneak behind a visitor as the door flings open and make yourself right at home.

He shadowed one of the visitors along the ward’s hallway all the while glancing sideways at the name plates on each of the patient rooms. Each patient’s name was a colored drawing Mulder assumed was created by each child as they entered the ward. The drawings consisted of the child’s name made out of giant capital letters and childish doodles all around it. This made reading the names quite easy if one only snuck peeks at them. He read name after name until he found the one he was looking for. He didn’t stop right beside it. Instead he went a few steps further and sat down in the nearest waiting area. He hoped he wouldn't have to wait long for his prey. The clock was ticking and pretty soon Scully's tests would be over and he'd have to go home with her. There was just so much ditching he could get away with in one day.

He stared down, first at his hands, then at the yellow polymer floor that adorned the ward's corridor. Somebody, presumably one of the patients in the ward, stuck Asterix stickers all around the legs of his chair in the waiting area. Some of the stickers were almost completely worn out, probably after numerous floor scrubbings, but others, especially those that were stuck deeper under the chair, still retained their original colors and Mulder found himself preoccupied with the tiny scenes in each sticker.

His mind was deeply engrossed with the task of trying to recall the name of the dog character from the Asterix series when he was startled by the whooshing sound of an opening door. Without raising his head, he snuck a peek at the receding form of a short-statured woman who was trudging down the hallway. He quickly registered her floral blouse and black jeans, as well as her hair color and cut. He now had an image etched in his brain. He still didn't have a face, but her clothes and hairstyle were quite enough. When she was out of his line of sight, he rose from his chair and began walking quietly along the ward's corridor until he caught sight of her again. She was about to exit the ward. He changed to a more determined pace. He didn't want to lose her once she left the ward. His instincts told him she would probably not go too far, but he had too much riding on this hunch, and he preferred to be safe than sorry.

As he followed her from afar he knew that what he was about to do next was somewhat risky. What worked in his favor was his excellent understanding of human behavior, and he was willing to put good money where his mouth was.

He kept a respectful distance from Miranda, but she was never out of his sightline. As she was of a rather short form, even shorter than Scully, despite her apparent swift pace, it took her longer to reach her destination and Mulder was forced to keep to an almost snail-like stride. Once his stalking-object neared the end of the floor's corridor, Mulder realized her destination was the small coffee shop. He sped up his pace, passed Miranda and grabbed a spot in the shop's queue. When he was almost at the cash registry, he gave a quick glance behind him, caught the floral blouse in his eye but made sure not to make eye-contact. He just needed to be sure Miranda was indeed there. He ordered an Americano and a Cinnamon Danish, paid and then went to sit at the nearest available table. He made sure he was now facing the queue.  

All the unoccupied tables were behind his and that meant that should Miranda opt to sit with her coffee, she would have to pass by him. Since she spent most of her hours confined to her daughter's room, he was inclined to believe she'd most likely choose to take a break and remain within the coffee shop's vicinity. As usual, he was right. The flowery blouse and black jeans were heading his way. OK, his moment of opportunity had finally arrived. He had to grab it now, or else.

Just as Miranda approached his table with her steaming jumbo cup of coffee, he got up and made his advancement. "Excuse me, Ma'am?"

The short woman was caught off guard by Mulder's sudden approach; she started and almost lost her grip on her coffee. Mulder quickly lent a helping hand and steadied her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

She half-nodded, her body language sending a clear message of extreme impatience; Mulder realized he had to promptly get to his point or he'd lose her. "Can you possibly help me out with something?"

"What do you need?" she asked gruffly; no _'off course, Sir'_ or _'sure, why not'_ , just a curt response which meant she had no time to dawdle around with trite business.

Mulder resisted the urge to heave in a deep breath. It would send the wrong message. Instead he just plowed on with his query. "I just saw you coming out of the Children's Oncology ward. Are you a relative?"

"Why? What's it to you?" Gruff and suspicious. _Lovely woman_ , Mulder sighed inwardly.

"It's just that I'm having my daughter admitted the day after tomorrow. She starts treatment for Leukemia and well, I need some information regarding those living arrangements provided by the insurance? You know anything about this? We're from out of town, you see." Mulder lied through his teeth. Luckily, he was obviously a very good liar or Miranda was just very gullible as she seemed to be buying his sob story and her aggressive demeanor relaxed.

"I'm staying at the double room condos on Rose Street, just two blocks from here. Talk to your insurance. They should have them listed. Ask about Rose Condos. I believe they still have a couple of vacant apartments."

 _Bingo!_ "Thank you very much. You've been very helpful," he offered his million-dollar smile, picked up his coffee, swallowed the remaining stub of Danish and headed for the elevators.

"You're welcome," Miranda called out from behind him.

 _No. **You're** welcome_ , Mulder replied to her in his mind.

* * *

Dana Scully dragged herself out of Dr. Granger’s office. It had been almost four hours since she and Mulder had arrived at the hospital and while it seemed Mulder was having the time of his life romping about the place, she’d been subjected to a battery of pokes, pricks and scans, and she felt completely devoid of energy. Now all she longed for was her bed, but there was still one little item left on her menu that she wanted to pursue before they went home.

In the waiting area opposite Dr. Granger’s office Mulder sat, a guilty smirk plastered to his face. She let an angry puff through her nostrils. She had thought he’d wanted to come with her to the hospital to show his support. Instead, it seemed he had some crazy theory regarding her condition. For him everything was just an X-File in the end. She goes a little haywire and he can’t wait to launch an investigation. Well, she wasn’t happy. Not one bit. Especially since his idea was downright absurd.

How could he even deem to imagine that a miserable mother of a dying sick child would try and harm her in any way? Maybe he should go back on his meds if his level of paranoia has reached this state.

“Well?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, what?” she spat back at him, feigning ignorance.

“What did the doctor say?”

She let out an angry huff.

“C’mon Scully, don’t do this to me.” He begged and she felt somewhat pleased.

“Like you deserve my answer after you hung up on me and screened my calls.” She turned away from him and strode towards the elevators. She would have hurried her pace but she was too beat to storm off.

“I’m sorry about that, but you were being a…” he stopped short as he obviously took in her fierce glare.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

He didn’t say a word and she couldn’t resist his miserable face any longer. “I’m fine. The tests all came back negative.”

To her dismay, he didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Instead, his facial expression had a distinct ‘I told you so’ feel to it.

“Get that damn smug look off your face, Mulder!”

“What?” he challenged her with his assumed innocence. “You’re not pleased?”

“Not as pleased as you seem to be.” She retorted grudgingly. “ _Now_ the only remaining logical explanation is that I’m going crazy. You happy with that?”

“Ah! You said it Scully!” he continued smugly.

“What? That’s I’m crazy? Yey me.” She countered despondently.

“Not that. You said that that was the only remaining _logical_ explanation, and since I am a trained psychologist who can tell you right out that your faculties seem intact to me, I believe we can now move on to the illogical explanations.” His expression was like that of a magician, finishing a brilliant act.

She coughed. “Right.”

“What? You’d rather I tell you that you’re crazy?”

He smiled at her but it only served to make her more irritable. She hated when he went about like a stuffy peacock, fanning out its feathers. She released an angry sigh. “Look, I’m tired. I just want to go up to the ward and talk to the Wallace family and let them know I’ll be coming back tomorrow and then I’d like to go home so I can get a good night’s sleep and get to work and be able to function, OK?”

He gave her an incredulous stare. “You want to go up to the ward? Now?”

“It’s just for a couple of minutes. The way I left them yesterday… I really have to get things right.” She looked up at Mulder and she could see he was taken aback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” An air of guilt engulfed him as he spoke. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

She knew she should probably follow his reaction with a question but she was too exhausted to deal with Mulder’s misdemeanors. She’d have to sit this one out. “Fine.”

He gave her a hurried nod and scurried towards the emergency stairwell a little too quickly for her liking.

The elevator chimed just as the stairwell door came to a close. She entered it, took the single flight down and walked slowly to the ward’s entrance. She produced her nametag and swiped it. It was quiet at this time of the day. Most of the guests had gone home and so did most of the day staff. The nurses’ station, usually manned during the day, appeared deserted and Scully assumed the duty nurse was called to assist with one of the patients. She continued down the corridor, hoping that at least one of Ethan’s parents was with him for the night.

She was passing Brylee’s room, on the verge of entering Ethan’s, when Brylee’s door was flung open with immense force and Miranda almost jumped at her. Scully blinked, trying to steady her heartbeat. “Miranda?” she asked, somewhat breathless.

“Why, Dr. Scully.” Miranda uttered snidely. “You lookin’ rather shabby these days. Guess guilt doesn’t do you good, eh?”

Her initial surprise ebbing, she now felt rage forming. She had to keep it under control. This was the mother of a dying child and as such she was entitled to be bitter and miserable and Scully was forced to indulge her. “Hi Miranda.”

“It’s Mrs. Sanders to you, Dr. Scully. We ain’t no friends.” She spat with obvious disgust.

“Fine. Mrs. Sanders. I’m just going to speak to Ethan’s parents. I won’t get in your way,” she told her and was about to push forward when Miranda stopped her as she grabbed her wrist.

“You got no business going in there either.”

“What?” Scully’s heart skipped a beat. “What did you say to them?”

Miranda laughed acidly. “Just the truth. That you were a lying bitch, and this time they believed me.”

Oh crap! That woman was trying to murder her reputation. She recalled Mulder’s sentiment, then she shook her head. _No._ Miranda was bitter but that was as far as it went. She might be meddling in Scully’s business, but there was nothing extraordinary about Miranda’s means.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? You had so many things to say to me back when you were lying through your teeth and promising me that my little baby would get better, and now you can’t say anything?”

Miranda was sobbing miserably now and Scully could hear the sound of somebody approaching, probably a nurse aroused by the unusual commotion at this time of day. “I’m sorry,” she said, wholeheartedly, and turned away, a horrible sense of gloom flooding her.

As she walked back to the ward’s entrance, Sharon Black, the duty nurse, came hurrying down the corridor. She went to a sudden halt as she caught sight of Scully.

“Dr. Scully? Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were on sick leave.”

Scully was forced to look up at the prying nurse. “I am. I came for a checkup and wanted to check on one of my patients before I went home.” It was basically the truth.

The nurse caught sight of her battered facial appearance and her eyes widened with shock. “Oh my God! What happened to you?”

Scully had almost forgotten that her face still wore the tell-tale signs of her self-mutilation. She shook her head. “It’s nothing serious. Bad allergy.”

“Are you sure?” Sharon had good reason for suspicion.

“Positive,” Scully affirmed, hoping she’d be let off the hook.

“OK. If you say so,” the nurse wasn’t truly buying into it, but she wasn’t about to argue. “You look tired. I hope you’re going home. You shouldn’t come in tomorrow. Take the week off. You deserve it, and anyway, Slater’s got your cases so you don’t have to worry. They’re in good hands.”

Feeling defeated, Scully nodded agreement and thanked her, then headed out of the ward. She took the elevator to the parking lot, located her car and noted that Mulder was waiting for her in the driver’s seat. She knew she should probably not let him do the driving. He hadn’t driven a car in more than six years but she had no fight left in her and she assumed he’d probably manage it. It’s not like one truly forgets these things.

She moved around the tiny Fiesta and got into the passenger’s seat and said nothing.

Mulder gave her a sideways look. “You OK?”

No she wasn’t. “Tired. Let’s go home.”

He turned on the engine and slowly stirred them out of the parking lot.

She was grateful for his silence as she turned to her right and faced the window. Gradually the weariness of her body caught up with her mind and she dosed off, a single lingering thought remaining in her mind: It was time to call it quits. 


	8. Part Eight

The nurses' station was surrounded by at least a dozen people. Scully couldn't recall when it had been this busy in their ward. Furthermore, she peered at the various faces of the people who hovered around the station and for the life of her, she didn't recognize any of them. Basing her assumption on the various people's clothing, she deduced none were staff members. Maybe they were all guests of patients then, she concluded. Still, such a guest surge was unusual. People tended to stay away from the deathly hallways of oncology for various reasons; either scared to catch something themselves, worried about infecting the sickly kids or just plain scared of watching somebody so ill with this cruel disease.

She slowly plowed her way through the crowd, finally arriving at the desk. She was about to grab a patient's chart when she heard somebody calling her name.

"Dr. Scully?" It was Simone, one of the nurses.

"Hey," she offered her a healthy grin.

"I'm so glad to see you. They want to see you in the boardroom. I was just about to send somebody to find you."

"They?" Why would somebody summon her to the boardroom?

"Professor Brooks' secretary called and asked for you." Simone explained.

Scully felt a tiny knot forming in her belly. Brooks wasn't one of her biggest fans. Well, she had to be honest with herself; Brooks wasn't a fan of most people. He ran a tight ship, so to speak, made sure people followed the rules and guidelines he set and was very strict when it came to budget saving. Scully made sure she was always under his radar and since she was a rule-stickler herself, it wasn't so hard for her to manage that feat. And yet, nobody liked hearing the combination of the words 'Professor Brooks' and 'The Boardroom'. That was the sort of combination that bode no good. She screwed her face at Simone.

"I hear you, sister," the nurse sympathized with her. "But, I wouldn't keep him waiting if I were you. You best just go and get it done with, or he'll hunt you down wherever you go."

Scully let out a miserable huff. "I know," she told her and turned to go.

"I'll have you in my prayers," the nurse called behind her as Scully pushed her way through the crowd once again.

"Thanks," she answered her quietly and released another doleful sigh. She hurried down the ward corridor, exited and then decided to take a short detour via the ladies' room before she took the awkward journey up to the seventh floor. She stood in front of the sink and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was immaculate; it was delicate enough not to scream at everybody, yet in enhanced all her important facial features. Her face was somewhat more pale than usual, but she put it down to the fact that she was probably reacting to the unexpected summons. Something did bother her about her face, though. She couldn't put her finger on it, but in the back of her mind she had a strange feeling that her face seemed a little too perfect, even for her. Still, the exact source for her odd feeling wasn't revealed and she decided to brush it aside for now and deal with the immediate task at hand.

Without further ado, she left the ladies' room and headed for the elevator. Just like in every other company, here, too, the more prominent your position was in the food chain, the higher you sat physically in the building. Thus, the offices of the hospital administration were located in the top most floor and that gave one time to either get ready for such meetings, or, like in Scully's case, it served to enhance one's trepidations towards the upcoming event.

Of course, since she truly wanted the elevator ride to end as quickly as possible, it chose to pause on each and every floor, and at times just as she let out an exhale of relief as the doors closed, they chose to re-open and admit an additional number of people into the elevator. A ride that was supposed to take maybe two to three minutes, lasted over fifteen and by the time she was deposited on the seventh floor, Scully was a nervous wreck, having had time to conjure too many extreme scenarios in her mind.

As she walked the few steps towards the boardroom, she ordered herself to cease her thoughts of doom. Most likely it was something completely minor and she was the one who was making something out of nothing. _There!_ _She told herself!_ She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and tried to force her heartbeat back to its regular pace. Alas, none of her relaxing techniques did the trick and her heartbeat only moved in a faster pace with each step she took. It was then that she realized that possibly she should listen to her body's message and believe it. She had a horrible feeling that something bad was about to happen and she couldn't make that feeling go away.

The boardroom door was now right before her. The room had no glass walls or windows to it so she had no idea who was waiting for her inside. She wondered if this was intentional and decided it was probably indeed so, for various reasons. Right now she felt this served as a means of intimidation. The people inside had the upper hand. They expected her, but she on the other hand didn't know what to expect.

There was no way she could avoid this meeting so she took a deep breath and pushed the boardroom door's handle all the way down and entered the room.

Despite expecting something of the sort, Scully's heart still skipped a beat as she noted six pairs of eyes all staring at her with deep intent. She closed the door behind her and noticed that the only remaining seat was the one at the far end of the table, facing the 'committee'. She was forced to walk across the room while all their eyes bore into her, making her cringe inwardly with terrible discomfort.

The one-second walk that felt like a two-hour one finally ended and Scully took her seat in front of the board members. She gazed up and noted that the entire group consisted of old-timers; mostly medical professionals-turned-administrators. All of them quite renowned in their fields of expertise who mostly supervised younger members of staff these days and handled hospital policies and bureaucracy. She resisted her need to let out a huff of disgust as she told herself that most likely one day she would probably be holding such a position when she was no longer able to practice. Then she thought better of it and decided she'd rather retire than stoop so low. This time she did let a tiny sigh slip through the crack of her mouth.

She waited patiently for the 'elders' to begin the deliberation. She figured it would give her a slight edge if she first heard what they had to say so she could form a proper response; one that would serve her interests. She had no doubt that she would have to defend those before this crowd.

"Dr. Scully, you must wonder why we had summoned you here." Professor Brooks began.

"Yes," she answered simply, making sure to keep her tone calm and neutral.

Brooks leaned forward and fixed his chair as he responded. "Well," he paused for effect, "we have had a number of complaints concerning your treatment of patients and we have had a discussion amongst the board members and have come to a decision."

Wham! Her heart hit the ground. "A decision?"

"Yes," Brooks answered with a whiff of impatience.

She knew she truly didn't want to know but she had to ask. "What sort of decision?"

"It concerns your continued employment here at 'Our Lady'." It was father Ybarra who supplied the answer to her query this time.

No. This wasn't happening. "Are… you terminating my position in this hospital?" she asked as her heart's pounding intensified.

"We see no other option," Ybarra confirmed.

Her fear actualized, Scully felt herself moving from desperation to anger. "No other option?" she challenged.

"With the complaints against you piling—"

"Piling?!" Scully cut into Professor Brooks' accusations.

Brooks nodded at her and then turned to Ybarra. The clergyman took a step towards a tiny table in the room's corner and picked up a rather thick folder. Scully noted her name was scribbled in bold on its cover and she assumed this was probably her personal HR file. She'd only been in 'Our Lady' a few years. She'd never been called to anybody's office with any complaints. How did her file get so big? Why had nobody spoken to her before today? If she didn't know any better, she'd be inclined to believe this was a deliberate action against her. _Damn!_ She sounded just like Mulder now.

As she kept running scenarios in her mind, trying to figure out which of her patients could have complained, a single name popped in her mind. But who would take such a complaint seriously?

Ybarra was now leafing through her file and picking out notes and letters from it. Each piece of paper he dug out he set in a neat pile on the boardroom table. Scully watched in disbelief as he pulled another piece and another and another. The pile kept growing and this vicious ceremony seemed to last forever.

She felt tears streaming down her cheeks. _Crap!_ The last thing she needed was to show weakness in front of this pack of vultures and yet, she felt so overwhelmed by this, supposedly, incriminating evidence against her, she couldn't muster her control over her reaction.

"Why… why did you not tell me about all of these complaints before? This is the first time I've been approached in this regard." She was grateful she was sitting down as she felt her entire body was trembling.

"What do you mean?" The surprised question came this time from Professor Jane Gordon, Urology Chief and basically Brooks' right hand 'man'. "Human Resources have mentioned speaking to you several times in this matter and despite all the promises you kept making, you have stuck to your ways and ignored their requests."

Scully's eyes widened in surprise. What the hell was happening here?! As she stared at Gordon in shock, Ybarra opened her file again and riffled through it. He then retrieved two sheets of paper covered in somebody's meticulous handwriting. "What's this?" She queried with ghastly trepidation.

"Notes made during the numerous meetings you had with your HR representative." He slid the two sheets over to her. "Please observe your signature under every listed meeting."

Scully stared stupefied at the damaging evidence. Indeed, her signature was present under each meeting's conclusions. She skimmed through the notes. As she rushed through them she realized all the complaints were made by parents of patients of hers who had died. They all claimed that she had promised them that their child would survive. She tried to recall what she had said to those parents but she had seen so many sick kids during her time in Peds Oncology and had had so many conversations; she couldn't recall the full details. She might have made such promises to some, and that was only due to the fact that she truly believed she could get those kids better. She most certainly didn't promise survival to _all_ those parents and even so, since when were doctors terminated because they didn't succeed in curing a patient? Especially when she knew for certain she wasn't negligent.

What was worse, she had no recollection of those meetings with HR on this matter, yet she'd obviously had them since she had signed the forms and had apparently agreed to that ridiculous request.

"Anything on your mind, Dr. Scully?" Brooks asked.

 _Yes. Plenty._ Nothing she cared to share with this panel that had obviously made their final judgement in her regard. Unable to respond in words, she just shook her head.

"So, we are all in agreement. Dr. Scully, your termination is effective immediately. You are to hand over your hospital ID and we request you leave the hospital grounds once you have handed your ID to the security officer at the entrance."

"What?" _No!_ This was too fast. She didn't even get the chance to truly defend herself.

Brooks continued. "Please don't cause us any problems. If you do, we will have to ask security to remove you against your will. Do you understand?"

She didn't know what to say.

"Dr. Scully, do you understand?" That was Ybarra.

"Yes," she whispered. "But… I will need recommendations… I need to find another job… Can't you just give me another month? I need the money—"

Brooks cut in. "You made your bed. Now I suggest you lie in it. I can't give you any recommendation, Dr. Scully. I wouldn't wish for any hospital to hire a doctor such as you. You're a danger to the patients. You should be stripped of your title and barred from all hospitals as far as I'm concerned." He thundered.

She held her head in her hands, unable to accept what had just happened. "But I won't be able to practice medicine—"

"You shouldn't," Ybarra quipped. "I'm not even sure I'd trust you to bag my groceries."

"Scully?"

Her eyelids flew open. "Huh?" she blinked and looked around her. She was in their bedroom, not in the hospital boardroom. It was all a dream. An awful one, but it was just a dream. Despite the revelation, Scully wasn't able to shake the awful feeling the dream had created. It felt so goddamn real.

"Damn. I woke you up. I'm sorry." It was Mulder.

"No... It's good you woke me up. I was having a terrible dream." His presence improved her mood and the gloomy feelings slowly evaporated.

He lowered himself and sat by her side, his hand absent-mindedly hovering over her head and finally resting on her hair. His fingers ran through it gently. "Care to share?"

She didn't really want to delve on the dream. Just thinking about it brought back the emotions that accompanied her while she was immersed in it. "Maybe later," she needed some distance.

He seemed somewhat disappointed but he tried hard to not let it show. "Oh. OK, then."

She looked up at him. "I need some time to process. I'm not going to keep this from you. I'm just not up to it myself, OK?"

"I understand."

She could see that he was more self-assured now, and she offered him a small smile.

He returned the gesture. "I thought you were awake. I heard you talking. I guess it was just in your dream."

"Yeah," she said and rose to a sitting position.

"Anyway, I don't usually do this, but somebody kept ringing you, and I figured after the third call that it might be important, so I answered and took the message."

"Oh?" she looked at him quizzically.

"There's some board meeting and your presence is required. I told them you were on sick leave but they said that it was really important and that unless you were in a very bad state, that you must attend." He snorted. "Some nerve they have; I mean, it's like you never left the FBI; Skinner and his goddamn hearings…"

Mulder kept on rambling but she lost trail of his voice. Her heartbeat was racing, her hands shaking. _No! Silly girl!_ _That was just a stupid fucking dream!_ Furthermore, it was an absurd dream. Nothing about it made sense. _Stop letting your feelings control you! Stop **it** now!_

Somebody was touching her hand. "Scully?"

It was hard to understand through the loud pounding in her head.

She felt somebody touching her chin and using it to tilt her head upwards. She stared blankly at a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

"Scully?! What's wrong?"

She began to tremble. Mulder let go of her chin and was now grabbing her by her shoulders and pulling her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to get her to calm down, but all she could feel was suffocation and she flailed her arms and tried to get away from his grip. He wouldn't let her. He kept holding her tight with his strong embrace, pinning her down and preventing her escape.

When she finally realized fighting Mulder would be futile, she ceased her movements and waited for him to release her. She was still anguished but he forced her to come to her senses.

With his arms still clutching to her, he finally turned to face her. "I'm going to let go now. _Please_ don't make me grab you again," his eyes appeared sad and worried.

She nodded and mentally ordered herself to keep calm for now.

He removed his hands and she didn't move this time. She didn't want to face more of his penetrating stares. They just made her feel more vulnerable.

He obviously felt her avoidance because he just sat beside her and said nothing and she knew he probably had a ton of questions on his mind. She saluted him for being so patient with her. There were times he'd be such a nag, and then there were times he'd be so clueless. This time she believed he did have a clue but he also had the good sense to give her the space she required.

She lifted her eyes and turned to face him. He picked up her gaze with his eyes and stared intensely into hers, as if trying to dig deep behind them and endeavoring to figure out what had made her flip all of a sudden.

"Mulder…"

"You OK, Scully?"

"I… I think so…" she trailed off.

He looked away and she sensed the awkwardness of the moment. Some days she wondered how he could be so sure of himself in most situations, usually situations others would be unable to cope with, but when it came to moments that concerned her well-being, once he was sure the crisis was over, he didn't know what to say. He went all floppy and goofy-faced and so damn cute. She loved him that way but also felt sorry for him that she managed to unnerve him on such occasions. It was a somewhat manly trait, she knew. Mulder was actually better than most men when it came to dealing with emotions, but certain moments still caused him discomfort.

"I could use a drink," she offered her assistance.

He looked back at her, a somewhat shocked expression marking his face.

She let out a snicker. "Not _that_ kind… well, maybe I should have _that_ kind, but I won't be too presentable to the board if I appeared drunk—"

"What?!" his demeanor changed abruptly. "You're not thinking of going, now, are you?"

She hadn't expected his harsh reaction. "Of course I'm going. You, yourself, said that it seemed important enough to answer and that they seemed quite insistent."

He got up from the bed and began to pace angrily. His arms flew out with exasperation. "Am I the only one who was paying attention the last few days?! Scully, I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but you are _not_ well." He stared at her with blazing eyes, almost as if he were trying to pin her down with his glare.

Logically, she knew he was right. It was almost strange the way things were folding out. Instead of Mulder running amok and her trying to prevent him from endangering himself, their roles had been reversed. But, her logic was also telling her that yesterday she was given scientific proof that there was nothing medically wrong with her, and now there was no _real_ reason for her to ignore the medical director's request. Certainly she couldn't do this on the basis of some... paranormal mambo jumbo. The thought actually made her smile.

"I'm glad you find me amusing, Scully," Mulder berated her. "I, certainly, don't feel the same." He huffed, then he seemed to deflate as he slumped onto the bed.

She offered him a jaded smile. "I'm sorry, Mulder. It's just that… what do you expect me to do?"

From his lying position on the bed Mulder groaned and pushed himself back to a sitting position. He turned to face her and his miserable stare made her wince. "I'm worried, Scully. I have a very bad feeling about this."

She turned away from him and stared at her lap. "I _have_ to go. This is my job."

"So what!" he cried out.

"So… I _have_ to go." She was beginning to feel irked by the endless argument.

"In that case, I'm coming with you."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous!"

He looked peeved. " _You_ are being ridiculous, Scully! It's like you're ignoring all the signs. What's gotten into you?"

She couldn't believe he was even asking her that question.

He took in her incredulous expression and got up and went to the bedroom entrance. He paused as he was about to exit and turned around. "My gut tells me that should you go to that meeting, something bad will happen. I know you think I'm overreacting but please indulge me. You know that my hunches are usually correct. You should at least allow me that much."

He wasn't going to let this one go. She knew it. "Fine," she uttered with resignation, "You can come with me."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly and left the room.

"Mulder," she called after him.

"What?" he responded.

She could have sworn there was anger lining his response. He probably thought she was about to change her mind. Well… "What time is that meeting?"

There was silence and Scully assumed he was looking for the note he wrote down with the details. "Noon," his voice echoed through the quiet house.

"Thanks," she answered and got up. She had some time to get ready. If she was going to lose her job today, she would at least do so looking her best.

* * *

Assistant director Walter Skinner hung his coat on the hanger, sunk into his executive chair and stuffed his briefcase under his desk. It was five past nine in the morning, which was the usual time of his arrival these days, now that he was responsible for the department of background checkups.

He sighed and thought for the millionth time why he stuck to this job. It was obvious that they gave him this 'distinguished' position as a form of punishment, trying to force him to resign on his own and every day he thought seriously about doing just that. He was basically shelved by the head honchos of the Bureau. His record was spotless, and he made sure it stayed that way, thus preventing them from finding reasons for dismissing him, but he couldn't argue with their choice of position. Thus, they shoved him into a less prominent department, a position he was overqualified to do, hoping he'd give up and quit on his own. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction but he had to work hard on his willpower every waking hour.

The only leeway he allowed himself was sticking to regular office hours and never putting in any overtime. There wasn't much for him to do most of the day anyway, and he saw no point in wasting his time at the office. He was hardly included in meetings and he hardly had reason to convene any himself. He had a crew of a dozen agents, most of them still had mama's milk lining their lips and the rest were almost as old as the building. Aside from a weekly rundown, there wasn't much he needed to discuss with any of them. The more experienced agents helped the newbies and they all seemed to manage their tasks without his involvement. He was bored senseless and yet he came to work every day and stayed there till the clock struck five like the dutiful soldier he'd always been.

He logged into his computer and skimmed through the four generic emails that came overnight. Each email was then moved to its relevant folder. That was about it for the day's work. He had two new books to read and he figured he could get himself his first morning coffee to have with one of them. The FBI didn't care too much as to how he spent his time within his office as long as all his forms were filled in properly and his reports were handed on time. Even so, Skinner always made sure he was reading material related to his profession. Nobody would have anything to say about him using his work hours for his personal business. So, true to current times, he was presently reading a book concerning The Prophet Mohammad. His second book dealt with cyber warfare. Both were hot topics in the Bureau these days. Alas, he had no idea if any of the data he read would become relevant to his job, but he hoped times would change and that he would once again find himself under the management's good graces and if so, keeping current would be invaluable.

He got up and trudged towards the nearest rest area. In the good old days, when he used to have an assistant, she would have taken care of his coffee, but his current position didn't require an assistant. Without too many appointments and meetings to handle, the assistant's job became redundant and Kim was forced to find a different position within the Bureau. Now, whenever he got to the break room he prayed that somebody had either bothered to prepare a batch of coffee and that some coffee still remained in the pot. Today his prayers were answered and he decided to take it as a good omen for the rest of the upcoming day.

Just as he was adding the cream to his steaming mug of coffee, his cell chirped. He started and some of the cream ended on the counter instead of his mug. He cursed under his breath, landed the cream jug on the counter and retrieved his phone. He peered at the screen and frowned. It was an unknown number. Such numbers usually belonged to companies sending automated messages to mobile customers, but his number was off the grid to such calls thanks to his work in the FBI, so this meant the person calling didn't want his number identified. It had been a while since he received clandestine calls from anybody. He wasn't quite sure if he missed them.

After the third ring, he clicked the answer button and listened intently.

"H… Hello?" An unsure but very familiar voice spoke on the other end of the line.

Skinner's eyes widened with surprise. "Mulder?"

"Skinner."

Skinner couldn't see Mulder but something about his voice told him he was smiling. Skinner would have smiled as well. Mulder calling him was a most welcome surprise, but he knew that if Mulder chose to make contact, that something was going on. "What's wrong?"

"Good Ol'Skinner. Right to the point. That's why I like you so much."

Skinner rolled his eyes. Mulder always knew how to flare up his nerves. He held him in high regard, and he had come to care for him like a son, but just like with any other relative, sometimes he got on his nerves. "You wanna tell me what's going on, or you just called to ask for my apple pie recipe?"

Mulder snorted. "I figured some foreplay should ensue before we get to the actual good stuff, but I guess you were never big on foreplay, so I will cut to the chase: I need your help."

Well, that wasn't too much of a surprise. "With what?"

"I need you to search somebody's apartment."

Skinner gulped. "Did I hear you right?"

"You sure did."

"I can't just go about busting into people's lives as I please. You were FBI, Mulder. You should know as much."

"I'm not expecting you to 'bust' into anybody's life. I know you operate from within the bureau's boundaries and I don't expect you to do otherwise."

OK. So maybe Mulder had changed since he'd left the agency. Certainly the Mulder he knew didn't give a crap about protocol. Then again, Mulder did give a crap about him, and he  _never_ operated outside of protocol; well, almost never. "I'm listening."

"It concerns Scully. I believe her life is in danger."

"What do you mean?" Of course it had to do with Scully. Mulder wouldn't make such an effort for just anybody, especially these days.

"There's this woman, the mother of one of her patients. She's been making threats against her."

"Do you have anything more substantial?"

"Yes. Somebody had recently stolen Scully's lab coat with her ID and her office keys. Soon after, somebody gained access to her office. At the time the only difference she noted were a batch of homemade dolls that had been rearranged. She didn't make too much of it but I took a better look at those dolls that were rearranged and I noticed they were all presenting with a cut in their back. I deduced that something was inside those dolls at the time she received them and that during the recent break-in into her office, whatever was in those dolls was retrieved."

Skinner didn't like what he heard but it still wasn't enough to warrant a search of somebody's apartment. "What's the point to all of this, Mulder?"

"The point is, the dolls were handcrafted by that same mother who has been threatening Scully, and the theft of Scully's ID occurred the day after she began threatening her."

OK, here Mulder had a somewhat stronger case, but Skinner felt he wasn't revealing the entire story. "What aren't you telling me? I know you, Mulder; you probably have a theory about all of this."

Mulder didn't hurry to respond and Skinner knew he was contemplating how much he could expose. "Mulder? I don't have all day."

Mulder sighed. "She's not OK, Sir."

"Who?"

"Scully. I think… this woman is doing something to her."

Here we go. "What exactly?"

"I'd rather not say before you give me some more concrete proof. There's just so much I can do these days. I need your help. Scully needs your help and I need you to trust me on this."

Mulder had pulled the 'please trust me' card, not to mention the 'Scully's in danger' one. He actually got off his butt and called his ex FBI boss after keeping silent for a good number of years. OK. Skinner knew he was desperate and should he not help him, he might succumb to impetuous measures and that was the last thing he needed. "I will see what I can do."

There was a deep sigh of relief on the other end of the line. "Thank you. I will text you the details, as well as my number."

The line went dead and Skinner tucked his phone back in his pocket. He threw out his, by now, cold coffee, washed his mug and poured fresh coffee and cream into it, then headed back to his office. He sat at his desk, took note of the two books he had prepared, picked them up, and shoved them into the first empty drawer. Today he wouldn't need special aids to keep him occupied. No. Today he had good ol' Fox William Mulder to make sure boredom would be kept at bay. He laughed. If only he'd had known he'd be eager to have some of Mulder's mischief back in his life. He let out another deep hearty laugh. Life was indeed an amusing thing, he thought.

* * *

Mulder smiled as he put down his cell. It was good talking to Skinner again. He had to admit that he missed the AD’s orderly demeanor. Despite appearing rather gruff, Skinner was a warm fuzzy teddy bear and a person he could trust with his life, which was saying a lot these days.

He looked at the watch on the microwave. It was ten in the morning and Scully was still in the shower, pampering herself for the upcoming meeting. He padded to the bathroom door. There was no sound of running water coming from within so he assumed she was almost done, although, he noted to himself, when it came to women, the part that came after the shower usually took longer.

“Scully, you almost done in there? I could really use a shower before we go.”

“Yeah. Almost,” she replied from within the bathroom.

He turned around, about to go and find something to do till Scully came out, when the bathroom door burst open and out she came, all properly dressed and ready to go, her makeup concealing the tell-tale signs of her nightmare from two days ago and her hair all nicely dried and brushed to perfection.

She smiled at him. “You can go in now. I’m done.”

He almost ingested her with his eyes. She looked refreshed and almost like her usual self, plus the fact that she wore a juicy grin on her face. He gulped. She was literally taking his breath away. “You know… a shower shared by two saves a lot of water.”

She walked past him slowly. “I know.” She teased coyly.

If only they weren’t short on time, Mulder sighed, got into the bathroom and flung the door shut behind him. He padded to the sink, grabbed his shaving cream, spurted some of it into his palm and then began applying it to his face. As he lathered the cream over his facial stubble he wondered why he actually kept to this daily shaving routine. It was a habit he assumed when he joined the FBI academy. You either had a real beard and kept it groomed to perfection or your face had to resemble a baby's butt. Since he was still producing fuzz back in those days, there was no hope of a real beard for him so he was forced to adhere to a regular shaving routine and he just got used to it. Even after he left the bureau he just couldn't shake the habit away. He'd get up every morning, and despite knowing he wouldn't even be peeping out the window, he still shaved.

He decided that once they resolved Scully's issue, he would grow a beard. It was time to shake the FBI man right out of him. That period of his life was definitely over. He tried to imagine how he'd look bearded. It was too hard to fathom. He hoped Scully would approve. He assumed a loopy grin at the thought. She'd probably raise her eyebrow to the sky. He snorted. Women tended to be attracted to bearded men, he thought and found himself liking that notion more and more.

He finished his shave, washed the remaining mixture of foam and stubble from his face, slapped his beautiful baby-skin cheeks and smiled with approval. _Damn fine lookin'_.

He undressed and got into the shower. The water didn't need much adjusting as Scully had just finished showering a short while before and he was quickly immersed in the soothing warm stream. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted into a hazy daydream. Scully in a luscious pink frilly baby doll luring him into their bed, slowly removing each strap and the shy whiteness of her breasts protruding from under the satin garment.

His tongue shot from between his lips. He could feel the warm water dripping on it as he licked his lips and then bit into them.

Oh God! What had she done to him? They have had plenty of sex ever since they became more than just work partners. At first it was just that; hot steamy intercourse. The stuff dreams were made of, and then she slowly cooled down until all that was left was icy mechanical coupling that didn't have anything in it.

He'd stopped lusting for her after a while. They had their routine sex, each managed to be satisfied but it wasn't anything beyond that. And now… he was ready to devour her like a feral beast, he was a canon ready to fire, he was—

Clink!

Mulder's eyes flew wide open, his tongue slithered quickly back into his mouth. _Huh?_ Was that the front door he'd just heard slamming? Could Scully… _Naaaa_. She wouldn't do that to him, now, would she?

His body still sheathed in soap, he hurriedly stepped out of the shower, grabbed the first towel he could get his hands on, and as he rushed towards the bathroom door, he expertly wrapped it around his waist and tucked its corners so the 'skirt' wouldn't fall off. His hair was sopping wet and he dripped water all along the bathroom floor. He managed to dry his feet on the rug and then he dashed out of the bathroom, hoping his hunch was wrong.

This was one of those times when he wished he couldn't trust his instincts. Alas, he was spot on. As he strode through the cabin, he could hear the humming of a car's engine as it drove away from the house. There was no mistaking that engine's particular sound. It was Scully's Fiesta and the engine sound was quickly dying as it drove away from the cabin's entrance.

He flung the front door open, dashed out into the porch and despite knowing it was futile, he called her name out loud. "Scully!"

The Fiesta was a tiny spec of green in the distance now.

He hurried back indoors. Scully still had to unlock and re-lock the front gate so possibly he might be able to catch her before she managed that.

He almost crashed into their walk-in closet as he rushed to get dressed. He grabbed the first boxer shorts, t-shirt and pants he could find, swiftly donned them and grabbed his slippers as he knew it would take less time to put them on compared to sneakers. It was the speediest dressing he'd ever achieved.

He flew out of the house, leaped over the porch steps and ran like a bat out of hell.

 _Yes!_ He could see Scully was still at the gate. She was pulling it shut. "Scully! Wait!" he cried out to her, hoping she could hear him.

At the sound of his voice, Scully did raise her head, but instead of waiting for him, she quickly finished locking the large padlock, then hurried back into her car and sped away.

"Fuck you, Scully!" Mulder cursed with frustration. He was fuming. It was like she tricked him with her coyness. Lulled him into this sexual fantasy and made him think with his goddamn Johnson. He didn't expect her to pull a… 'Mulder' on him. She was Scully. She never did such things. He shook his head, then trudged back along the path. He would catch a cab to the hospital. He just hoped he wouldn't be too late.

As he entered the cabin, he could hear his cell trilling with all its might. He dashed towards the kitchen table, snatched the device, flipped it open and then stuck it to his ear. "Mulder," he answered like he used to do back in the day.

"Skinner," was the gruff response on the other end of the line.

Mulder blinked. He totally forgot about their conversation. He hoped it was good news. He was upset enough as it was. "Yeah?"

"I managed to get a warrant for Miranda Sanders' condo. I'm on my way there now. Anything in particular you'd like me to check out for you?"

He would have kissed Skinner if they didn't have a phone line between them. "I'll probably know more when you'll be inside her place. Can you call me when you're there?"

"Yeah," Skinner confirmed and then disconnected.

Mulder smiled. So Skinner may be lacking on the side of tact and basic decorum, but he was true to his word and besides, Mulder never really gave a crap for manners anyway.

He ordered a cab and waited patiently for its arrival. As he waited, he mulled over Scully's uncharacteristic behavior. _So this is how it felt on the other side of the ditching line._ It sure felt like shit.

* * *

The boardroom door seemed more ominous than ever. Remnants of her horrid dream kept seeping into her mind and she found herself shaking her head, as if trying to get rid of lice clinging to her hair. She kept staring at the door, unable to force herself to open it. She'd arrived two minutes early, but now it was ten minutes later and she still hadn't entered the room. Her heart was beating rapidly, her head was pounding and her skin felt clammy. For the umpteenth time she stretched her hand out in an attempt to open the door but her gaze that followed her palm couldn't ignore the steady tremor it presented.

She didn't think she could do it. The strong sense of déjà vu was ossifying. She couldn't find any will to fight her fears. She thought she could conquer this. She forced herself to come here, despite strong trepidation. She ditched Mulder because she felt she had to cope with this on her own. She was leaning too much on him and she didn't like it. Not one bit. Especially because it was like leaning on a rickety twig and she felt that at some point he will crack and then they'd both fall down a bottomless pit and there would be nobody to catch them.

But now all the self-assuredness that she felt as she drove to the hospital seemed to have dissipated and in its place she felt anxiety and defeat and deep down she regretted having left Mulder behind like that, and then she scolded herself for being so needy.

She felt confused. She felt this was wrong. Her thoughts, her feelings; they were wrong. But they were so strong and she felt so weak.

She began retrieving her trembling hand back when the door opened all of a sudden. Her heart jerked and her gaze flew from her hand to the face of the person now filling up the open door. It was Father Ybarra.

Despite herself, the tight-lipped face of the clergyman forced the remaining wind out of her sails. She felt herself losing balance and she swayed to the side but before she completed her fall, she felt a strong hand grabbing her by the arm and keeping her on her feet.

"Dr. Scully, are you alright?"

Her head was spinning and she literally felt as if she was hanging by a limb as Ybarra kept preventing her from falling. The most she could do for a response was offer him a weak moan.

Ybarra ushered her into the bustling boardroom and plopped her into the first chair he could find. She could hear the concerned voices of the surrounding medical professionals as they all tried to converge on her.

Somebody grabbed her wrist and was muttering about the rapidness of her pulse. Another was asking somebody else to get her something to drink.

She leaned back into the boardroom chair and lifted her gaze. About ten pairs of eyes gawked back at hers and she almost flinched. She took a deep breath. "I… I'm alright…" she told them but her voice sounded flat and small. Even she didn't believe her words. If she thought yesterday's nightmare was a shameful event, reality seemed far worse. Maybe if she pinched herself, she'd find out this, too, was just another installment of her over-active imagination.

"I'm really sorry we dragged you here when you're obviously still not well." Professor Brooks apologized.

Scully felt awkward. This wasn't a health issue. Her tests all came back negative. She was fit as a fiddle. Well, at least physically. Mentally she definitely belonged in the cuckoo's nest. She had finally cracked under the pressure of taking care of Mulder, losing her son and having to deal with death and sickness on a day to day basis. There was no other logical explanation.

"It's OK," she told him, which of course it wasn't, but she'd already made the effort. There was no point in going home now. Besides, right now, she wasn't sure she would be able to get up, walk back to her car, let alone drive it.

"Here, Dr. Scully." Jane, Prof. Brooks' assistant, placed a glass with orange-colored liquid in front of her. "It's fruit juice".

"Thank you," she gave her a grateful smile, and brought the glass to her mouth. She tasted the juice. It was the basic supermarket brand; carton-tropical-with-extra-preservatives juice. It was the kind she tended to avoid due to its high sugar concentration but today it was exactly what she needed. She downed the juice and relaxed back into her chair.

"Are you feeling any better?" Brooks asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Do you think you'd be alright if we continued with the meeting or do you want us to reschedule?"

 _Reschedule._ Strange that just a few hours ago it was of the utmost importance that she attended the meeting and now it was suddenly possible to have it on another date. She resisted the urge to let out an embittered snort. Administrators could be so thoughtless. "No. It's fine. I'm feeling well enough."

As if a cue had been given, as the last word left her mouth, all the staff members obediently sat back in their places. The moment resembled her dream, but this time she wasn't sitting opposite the entire board but amongst them and the facial expressions of the esteemed crowd weren't harsh and disapproving. Well, with the exception of Ybarra who was probably born wearing a scowl.

"Dr. Scully, I am very grateful that you made the effort and joined us today."

She nodded approval at his remark and noted to herself that his tone was friendly and nothing like his appearance in her dream.

"So, the reason we asked you to come in concerns your position in our hospital."

Bam! She blinked as her heart skipped a beat. Was this some evil tactic to get her all nice and comfy before they slit her throat?

"There are going to be some changes around here. Some departments will have to cut down on staff; others will be adding new members to their teams."

The word 'cut' did just that; slice right through her. She now believed this was going to end badly in a manner similar to the one portrayed in her nightmare. The means were different but the end result looked as if it were going to be the same. As Brooks continued, Scully felt her heart rate returning to its hasty speed from just a quarter of an hour before. She wasn't able to concentrate on the professor's words. Her thoughts were darting from one notion to the next; termination, job hunt, depression, losing her house, losing Mulder…

"… did you hear what I was saying, Dr. Scully?" The professor's higher note interrupted her frazzled thoughts.

This was embarrassing. She had no choice but to admit that she hadn't heard most of what he'd just said. "Sorry, Sir. Can you repeat that?"

He gave her a somewhat incredulous stare and heaved a deep breath. "We have to make staff cutbacks in the Pediatric Oncology Ward. You are the newest staff member, so unfortunately you were first in line to be cut."

Scully felt her shoulders slumping. So, this is how the cookie crumbles.

"But—" Brooks continued and Scully wondered what the 'but' was about, "we all agreed that it would be a great shame for this hospital if we were to lose a talented physician such as you, and since we are interested in enlarging our Genetic Diseases department, we would be pleased to offer you a position with the Genetics Team."

Scully blinked. Did she hear correctly? They still wanted her on board? They were actually interested in keeping her?

"Dr. Scully, is there anything you'd like to say?" Brooks stared at her intently.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to recover from the wacky rollercoaster ride that this day had turned into. "Sir, I admit that all this is coming as somewhat of a surprise to me."

"I quite understand. We are pretty short on time, but I guess it should only be fair to give you a few days to deliberate your decision."

"That would be good, Sir."

Brooks leaned back in his chair. "Good. I would like to have your decision by the beginning of next week. Whatever your decision will be, it will be at least two more months until the changes will take place."

 _Two months._ That meant that if she didn't take their offer, she'd have to start job hunting as soon as possible. Well, it could be worse, and Genetics was very appealing to her, but she was worried about the various intrigues and people's self-serving interests that may be the drive behind this change. She hated office politics but nobody was exempt from that game.

"Thank you, Sir," she said to Brooks.

"Thank _you_ , Dr. Scully. I hope you will agree to stay with Our Lady's family."

"I will let you know as soon as I've made my decision, Sir."

With that the meeting was adjourned. Everybody got up and trailed slowly out of the room. Scully remained seated, pondering what she'd been told. Her elbows were hunched on her knees while the tips of her fingers touched each other as she slipped into a deep reverie.

"Dr. Scully, the meeting is over."

Her eyes widened with surprise and her hands flew to her side. She felt like a mischievous child caught in the act. "Father Ybarra. I… I just needed to think things over. If it's a problem, I could go someplace else."

Ybarra gave her a look of disdain. "You should know that the decision to transfer you to another department wasn't unanimous. Some of us do _not_ find your methods of treating patients to our liking."

 _Shocking!_ She thought sarcastically _._ "I take it you weren't one of my supporters?"

"Don't get me wrong. I know your heart is in the right place and that you always put your patients first, but sometimes this tenaciousness can work against you, not to mention that it can be a burden on the hospital's budget when you throw your all into treating a terminal patient who scarcely has a chance."

Scully felt the need to form fists and she fought hard to keep calm. It was hard to believe this was a man of God. She gave him a curt smile. "Well, thank you for your candor, Father." She got up and began moving towards the door. "I really need to go home and get some rest."

"Right." He pursed his lips as she passed him by. "Indeed, that illness of yours is quite 'mysterious'. Maybe you need to take a break?"

 _Don't roll your eyes, Dana_ , she ordered herself. _That man!_ He was intolerable. "Good day, Father," she responded curtly to his obvious accusation.

She didn't look back and she tried to walk away with pride and confidence, but deep inside the seeds of doubt had been planted and they didn't need much watering to rise to their full height and glory.


	9. Part Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Your eyes do not deceive you - this is indeed a new chapter *grin*. Apologies for the long delay - my real life decided to raise its head and take over..._

 

"You know, it's OK to do seventy here," Mulder told the cab driver from his seating position in the back of the car.

"You in some kind of a hurry, mister?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Mulder answered impatiently.

"Why, somebody gonna die?"

_At this rate, **you** will be dying_ , Mulder wanted to tell him, but that would have definitely not gone down well. "Look, just drive faster," he tried to somehow convince the pesky driver.

"So, nobody dying, eh?"

Mulder rolled his eyes. These were times when he knew he didn't miss civilization.

"Thought so," the driver answered his own question and continued doing his fifty miles per hour, all the while making Mulder want to strangle him.

Despite knowing it was futile, he tried calling Scully again for the umpteenth time. Sure enough, his call was directed to her voicemail. He snapped the phone shut with a tad extra force, and shoved it back into his jacket pocket as he clenched his jaw in frustration. What possessed her to dump him and rush to that stupid board meeting after he'd specifically told her it was a bad idea, God only knew. She was so all over the place, it was freaking him out. One moment calm and rational, the next on the verge of a breakdown; panicking, shaking violently, self-mutilating, lashing out physically. He'd rarely seen her so out of control. He was scared this was escalating and that if he couldn't stop whatever or whoever was causing this, that it would cost Scully her life.

He stared out of the window as the cab passed by farmland and small villages and let his thoughts wander further.

And what if he won't make it on time?

He mused about his life and hers; They were finally out of harm's way. Nobody was chasing them, and they weren't chasing anybody and he had let his guard down. They didn't carry a gun anymore and he never really used the phone and even if he did, he stopped thinking about surveillance after a while. He was lulled into this easy life where he did nothing and he assumed the same about everybody else. It was so ridiculously stupid and he knew it, but it was just so easy to go there. He desperately needed to feel safe and by carving this semi-normal life of theirs, he'd built this fantastic belief that if he was away from his kind of madness then the madness won't reach them. He couldn't have been more wrong. The madness clung to them and knew how to locate them even if they were to hide in the most desolate part of the world. Now it came in the most innocent of forms; the mother of a child; presumably the most normal thing of all. So of course, in their case she had to be the monster, for they attracted monsters. Yes they did.

He wanted to shout out at the invisible power that tormented and tortured both of them. _Haven't we paid enough?_ Why won't it leave them in peace and let them enjoy what the rest of the world did: normalcy. Weren't they allowed this indulgence? Why was this happening to them? To her? _Look at her! Whoever you are out there, just look at her! What has she ever done wrong?_ She has done **_nothing_** wrong. On the contrary; she was always doing it right. She cared for sick children yet she had lost hers. She fought for justice and she only gave it up to keep him safe. She didn't care for herself at all. She was selfless. She was a saint! Maybe whoever that power was just wanted her back by his side, but why did she have to suffer so much for this?

And he wasn't feeling selfless at all at that moment. No. He was feeling selfish as hell. Well, to a degree, he added as an afterthought. She could be living in this world without him or she could live in this world and hate him even. He wouldn't mind it as long as he knew that she was alive. But if she were to die… No. He would not let this happen. He could not.

"Driver, I need you to step on it. If I won't get to the hospital on time, she might die."

"So... You _are_ a doctor. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Mulder decided to play along since it suited his needs. "I didn't want to play this card when it wasn't necessary."

"So, is your patient dying now?"

"There's a good chance of that," he lied through his teeth.

"Okie dokie then," the driver responded and Mulder looked out and noted that the trees and tiny wooden houses were moving much faster than before.

 

* * *

 

 

As Scully walked down the hallway, the emotional toll of the meeting came rushing back at her, or so she was lead to believe. All of a sudden she felt so tired and drained. Her legs felt like two giant rocks and she could barely walk. She lifted her gaze from the floor. She hadn't even realized it was pointing there. Raising her head also felt tedious but she had to find some place to rest, or she'd collapse.

To her right a threesome of chairs had been placed and Scully heaved a deep breath and trudged towards them. She just about crashed into the chairs and her handbag dropped to the ground with a resounding boom. She didn't care. She let her back reach the seat rest, stretched her legs out and just lay there, breathing heavily, as if she had just finished running a marathon.

The back of her mind registered that even though the meeting had exhausted her emotionally, and she did feel somewhat spent, her current situation took things quite further than that. She was doing everything in her power not to pass out and that was definitely out of the ordinary.

As she lay there, too weak to move, the only thing she had going for her were her thoughts and they started playing havoc with her mind. Father Ybarra's words came back to haunt her. Brooks had basically lied to her when he told her the vote to keep her on board was unanimous. Obviously at least one person had voted against her and that said person mentioned he wasn't the only one. Why would Brooks tell her otherwise? She felt there was an ulterior motive behind her transfer. Maybe this whole genetics team thing was just a smoke screen for something completely different? When she came to thinking about it, this was the first time she'd heard of those cutbacks Brooks had mentioned. Maybe there weren't any cutbacks at all. Maybe it was all fabricated to let her think this wasn't something specifically against her? They would make her believe this was just routine, the normal behavior of such bodies as they tried to reorganize the system. She won't put up a fight if they told her it wasn't intentionally against her. Maybe just like in her dream, all they wanted was to get her out of the Oncology ward because they weren't happy with her performance, only they were a lot more covert about it. First she'd willingly remove herself from the scene of the crime, then they'd find some excuse to remove her off hospital grounds altogether.

As she delved deeper and deeper into the world of paranoia and despair, she began to strongly believe her conjured ideas. She wanted to go over to Brooks and give him a piece of her mind. The only thing keeping her from it was her physical weakness.

She remained plopped on the hallway chairs, waiting for some respite, and then her mind began to wonder about her paranoid feelings. _Why am I so sure Brooks' intentions are bad?_ _What is going on with me?_ Everything he said was logical. She was the last to join the Oncology team; it's plausible that if they have cutbacks, she'd be the first to go, and it's amazing that they have such good faith in her medical skills that they'd make the effort to find her a new position within the hospital. It's not something she should put off lightly. It says a lot and in a positive way. Even if Brooks concealed the fact that some were opposed to this decision, it could have been just out of the kindness of his heart. What's the point in letting her know some disapproved? Just because Ybarra was a shithead didn't mean that everybody else was.

She realized that she had totally dismissed her previous ideas and all she could think of was why she'd even stooped so low as to think so badly about everybody.

She bent down and brought her handbag to her lap. As she did that she noted to herself that her strength was returning. Once again she felt that something was totally wrong with her body's reaction and yet, she now knew for a fact that she was in good health. Maybe it was time she addressed the big white elephant in the room. It was hard, though, to admit this to herself. She'd always thought of herself as mentally invincible. It's not like she didn't have hard times and bad days; especially when she was battling her cancer and after she'd been abducted. It was quite expected for her to have issues to deal with, but considering all that she'd gone through, she had come out of it mentally unscabbed, relatively speaking. She was able to function and in the best sense of the way.

She remembered how she was badly affected when she was on the Donnie Pfaster case. It was a short while after her abduction. She knew that in some way her coping mechanism was affected by her ordeal and she decided to go and talk to the FBI counselor. She also realized that whenever she went to see the counselor, somehow Mulder's name always came up. She hated feeling helpless and needing help. She hated feeling out of control, and she hated how her pain affected Mulder. It was always that same vicious circle.

She sighed, feeling extremely weary.

OK, maybe she should find some professional help. There was just so much she could drop on Mulder's shoulders, especially since he was already beginning to show the tell-tale signs of over protectiveness boarding on mass hysteria and she found this pretty unbearable to say the least. There was a workers' counselor's office on the second floor. The only obstacle she saw was the possibility of bumping into work colleagues just as she was about to enter that office, since said office was located was on the same floor as Peds Oncology. She brushed the silly feeling away. The logical part of her pushed its emotional counterpart aside and told her that there was nothing wrong in seeking professional help in this day and age. Everybody who worked in the medical profession had to cope with hard feelings as they watched long-term patients slowly demise until they succumbed to the inevitable. It was no coincidence that the counselor was located just next to the Pediatric Cancer ward. The emotional toll on the professionals working in that ward was the highest. Nobody would think any less of her if she sought help.

But despite her ability to analyze the logic of it all, as she began her journey to the second floor, Scully felt as if a horrid incubus was taking over her mind and telling her that should she enter the psychologist's office, she would be marked for good and ridiculed as a professional. She rode down the elevator and as she eyed the descending floor numbers, a strong feeling of nausea began to encompass her. She gulped heavily, trying to prevent herself from emitting her stomach contents onto the elevator floor. She bit her lower lip hard until she felt a faint metallic taste, letting her know that she had broken through her skin as her anxiety kept rising. _What the Fuck is wrong with me?!_ She wondered in horror, unable to control the escalating fear she suddenly felt as the elevator chimed and its doors parted. It was absurd, and yet it was happening and she felt utterly helpless fighting herself.

She forced herself out of the elevator, sending anguished glances at the surrounding crowd, suddenly certain they could all see right through her. Did that man just send her a vicious sneer? She hurriedly avoided his glance, only to find herself being stared at from below by a child; A little boy, about three years of age. She had pointed her gaze downwards and the child's piercing eyes made her startle. She lost her balance and crumpled to the floor.

She outstretched her arm in a futile attempt to break her fall, but to no avail. Her knee crashed first and she winced hard as pain shot through her body. She had no time to collect herself. Her hand met the ground with much more pressure than she had intended. She had lost her equilibrium the moment she felt the harsh pain from her leg, and her hand, protruded in order to assist her in preventing additional physical disaster, suffered the consequences.

The whole ordeal took a mere fraction of a second at most, but to Scully it felt as if time had slowed down. She heard her own voice as it switched from shock to fear to a frightening gasp and finally to a loud howl as she screamed in agony. Then she heard the shrill wailing of the little boy from above her and the worried cries of a woman, most probably his mother, as she rushed to his assistance.

She scrambled and tried to get up. As she put her hand down to push herself from the ground, piercing pain attacked her senses and she slammed back onto the ground. "Fuck!"

She felt somebody touch her arm. "Are you alright?" It was an unfamiliar feminine voice.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The woman insisted. "You took a nasty fall."

_Leave me alone!_ Was what she wanted to say but instead she just persisted with her usual mantra. "I'm fine," she affirmed and this time she used her other arm to push herself back to an erect position in order to prove her point.

"OK," the woman said with a somewhat doubtful tone to her voice. "Here," she offered Scully her bag. "You dropped this."

Scully took her handbag with her uninjured arm and tried to walk away with whatever dignity she still had left, but it was not to be. As she took the first step, her knee screamed bloody murder and as she closed her eyes, she was certain she could see stars. The pain was excruciating, to the level that she knew demanded some serious attention, but she swallowed hard and tried to ignore the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She would not offer anybody a grand performance to make their day. She would not cry in pain, even though she truly wanted to. The only thing she could not mask was the limp she was now sporting as she walked away from the scene of her disaster.

She didn't look to her sides. She knew a small crowd had converged and she didn't want to see the expressions of pity she was convinced they all wore. She crudely hobbled onwards, until she caught site of a familiar door. She heaved a deep breath. The tiny closet door felt as if it were her only friend in the entire world at that very moment. She pushed it gently and it obediently opened.

She used what miniscule strength she had left to walk inside, shut the door slowly, put the broom into its regular handle socket and then she finally dropped down to the ground sobbing in the closet's silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Walter Skinner knocked on the cheap looking door and waited for a response. "Miranda Sanders! FBI! Please open the door."

He was greeted with silence so he continued with the normal procedure. "FBI!" He banged harder on the door. "Miranda Sanders, Open the door!"

Still no response. He put his ear against the door, trying to make out any sounds coming from within. He heard nothing. He heaved a deep breath, readying himself for his final bellow when he suddenly heard a clicking sound. He looked behind him and a young girl of about twelve years of age popped her head from the opposing apartment.

"She ain't home." The girl told him.

"I know." Skinner told her.

"So why you banging so loud if y'know dat?"

Skinner breathed hard. "It's my job. You go back inside now."

The teenager let out an unimpressed huff, slid back into her apartment and shut the door, leaving Skinner to his FBI dealings. He proceeded with the final major pummeling on Miranda's door, called her name out loud for the last time and then released his gun holster clip.

"I'm coming in!" he announced, and then retrieved a lock pick from his pocket and expertly unlocked the door. He pulled his gun from its holster, and slowly pushed the door handle down. From the tiny crack in the entrance Skinner's nostrils were accosted by the stale whiff of a home that hadn't been aired in quite a while. His face contorted in response. Skinner slowly widened the opening until he was able to pass through the door freely. He was confronted by darkness and all the while keeping his gaze to the front of him, he sent his right arm behind him, feeling to the side of the door sill for a light switch. Luckily the switch was right where he'd expected it to be and he quickly flicked it on, bracing himself against the blinding light.

With light now flowing through Miranda Sanders' tiny condo, he could finally look around and assess the place. The miniscule apartment had no lobby. The main living hall consisted of a tiny living room and a kitchenette. There was an all nice and tidy sofa bed in the living room area and beside it a recliner that was completely covered with dolls. The only additional door in the petite abode led to a bathroom. The apartment was empty and from the smell of things it hadn't really been lived in. He assumed Miranda had only come to the condo for very short periods of time and spent most of her hours beside her daughter's bed.

Skinner had no idea what to look for. He assumed it had something to do with the dolls based on what Mulder had told him, but what exactly? He holstered his gun and plucked his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Out of old habit he almost pressed the number three speed dial button and then remembered that it had been quite some time since Mulder's number had been there. He sighed and searched the list of latest calls received, found the number he needed and called it.

"Mulder," answered the familiar voice on the other side of the line. Skinner noted that he was obviously travelling somewhere. "Are you in the apartment?"

Skinner heard the slight edge in Mulder's voice and wondered if he should ask him what was wrong, then decided to let it go for now. "I'm here."

"Is Miranda there with you?"

"No."

"OK. Do you see anything out of the ordinary?"

"Should I?"

"I don't know."

"Well, Mulder, if you don't know what I should look for, why the hell did you send me here in the first place?" He was beginning to lose his patience with his former agent. In the good old days Mulder could crack a case as he sat at his desk, miles away from the actual events. Maybe he'd lost his touch being out of the bureau for so long, or maybe the fact that Scully was involved was inhibiting his abilities.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Skinner could hear the sound of car movement and faint music playing in the background. Mulder wasn't known to listen to too much music when he drove so Skinner assumed he was in somebody else's car, probably a cab. "Mulder?"

A few more seconds passed and finally Mulder responded. "Can you describe the apartment?"

Skinner quickly went through the condo's description, trying his best to elaborate as much as possible. Finally he waited for Mulder to offer him some guidance.

"Look at the recliner with the dolls. Tell me more about them," Mulder demanded.

Skinner shrugged. "They're just plain home-made dolls."

Mulder snorted. "These ain't your usual run of the mill dolls, sir. I want a detailed description. I want you to pick them up and turn them over, each and every one of them. These dolls are the key."

Mulder's request popped an idea into Skinner's head. He moved closer to the recliner and using the phone's camera, he snapped a shot of the dolls and sent it over to Mulder. "I think you can get started with this; A lot faster than me describing them."

On the other end of the line Mulder chuckled. "Imagine how our life would have been if we could have done this some ten years ago."

"Yeah," Skinner let out wearily and waited patiently for Mulder to try and analyze the photo he had sent him. After a couple of minutes his patience ebbed. "Figured anything out?"

"I think so," Mulder's voice sounded more distant now. He must've put him on speaker. "Can you get me a few close-ups of the first row?"

"Sure," Skinner confirmed and set his phone camera closer to the first row of dolls. As he shot the photos, he peered closely at the phone's screen, trying to figure out what had caught the younger man's eye and then he saw it and he slapped himself inwardly for not realizing it beforehand. Amongst the bunch of yellow haired dolls, three dolls had long orange hair. _Walter, you old fool, too many years of pushing paper have dulled your senses._ He took an even closer look at the orange-haired dolls and he realized all those dolls wore what resembled a white lab coat and the lab coat material was made out of a _real_ lab coat. On the doll most to the right a person's name had been embroidered but parts of the name were missing as he doll's lab coat was made out of cuttings from a real one. The embroidered name was split in two – part of it appeared on the coat's breast while the other part was on the sleeve. Skinner picked the doll up and brought it closer to his eyes for a better view. The letters on the coat breast spelled 'Dr. Da' and on the sleeve he read 'cully'. His eyes widened with shock. _Dammit, Mulder!_ As usual, Fox Mulder had been right!

He hurriedly put the doll back in its place and took a few additional snaps and sent them over to Mulder who quickly picked up the important details Skinner had previously missed.

"Sir, I need additional snaps of all the red-haired dolls; I want snaps of each limb and close-ups of their faces and then I'd like you to turn them face down and snap each of their bodies from the back – full body snaps and then each body part on its own. I will look at these on my way to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Skinner was both worried and confused.

Mulder let out a miserable snort. "Usually I'd say not to worry since Scully works at a hospital, but right now… I'm not so sure about that."

Skinner caught on. "I see. I'll finish here and I'll meet you there."

"I need you to check something about those dolls." Mulder continued, ignoring Skinner's last sentence.

Skinner didn't like the way Mulder had avoided responding to his last statement. Usually that meant he was going to do something rash. "Mulder, did you hear what I had just said?"

"Yeah," Mulder replied, impatience tinging his voice. "Can you check another thing for me?"

_Fuck._ He was blatantly deflecting the subject. This meant nothing good. "What?"

"I'm looking for the final nail in my theory's coffin. I need you to cut into each of the 'Scully' dolls and see what's inside. If my assumption is correct, you will find the smoking gun. Then you can come join me at the hospital."

"OK," Skinner agreed as he padded towards the condo's scanty kitchen and rummaged through its drawers until he found a pair of scissors. He walked back to the recliner and he realized he would need both hands free for this assignment. "Mulder, I'll call you back when I'm done."

"OK," Mulder replied and ended the conversation.

Skinner pocketed his cell and then grabbed the nearest 'Scully' doll, turned it around and pinched the doll-head's cloth with the scissors until he cut a tiny hole in it. He then stuck the scissors in the hole and made a cut wide enough for him to fit his fist. He took one step back, dropped to a sitting position on the nearby sofa bed, put the scissors down and dug into the doll.

At first all he got was foamy pillow stuffing. He plucked it out and set it beside him in a tiny, organized mound. He kept at it until suddenly something sharp pricked his finger. "Fuck!" he blurted out and winced. He pulled his hand out and noted the blood now marring his finger. "What the hell?!"

He stuck his hand back into the doll's head, being far more cautious this time. He slowly felt around the doll's innards until he once again met with the sharp item within. This time his prudence helped prevent further injury. He took hold of the object and slowly retrieved it from the doll's body. His eyes widened with surprise once he saw what it was.

 

* * *

 

 

"M… Mom..my…" Brylee Sanders whispered faintly.

Miranda sanders almost jumped out of her chair with shock. Brylee hadn't spoken a single word for the past two days. Her morphine dosage was on maximum now and she slept through the day as the drug concealed the pain from her brain. Miranda and the nurses provided all her needed care. They turned her frail body over to prevent bed sores, gave her gentle sponge baths and changed her clothes and diapers. The child was oblivious and despite the fact that Miranda knew sleep was the best thing for Brylee right now, she still longed to hear her child's voice.

She prayed in her mind for a miracle. She didn't know what she would do if she lost her precious baby. She didn't dare say 'once she lost' about Brylee. She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't accept it.

Dr. Scully's words to her just a few days earlier, telling her that Brylee was going to die, still sliced through her heart and she still couldn't conceive that these were her daughter's final days amongst the living. She had never prepared for this and for that she blamed Dr. Scully all the way. Had she known this would be Brylee's fate all along, she would have made the effort to make her last few months more meaningful. She would have never let her dwindle and die in a pitiful hospital bed, far away from her friends and family. Never.

Miranda pulled her chair closer to her daughter's bedside, leaned forward and grabbed her hand. "Brylee sweetie, Mommy's here."

The child released a weak breath as Miranda watched her with fear and worry. She wanted to grab hold of her daughter and not let go but the child's body was so emaciated, there wasn't much to grab anymore. Her tiny hand just about disappeared in her mother's grasp and Miranda was scared that just a teeny bit more pressure and it would crumble to bits.

"Baby, Mommy's here," she pleaded, hoping Brylee would speak again but the child didn't respond and Miranda believed she had fallen back to sleep. She was about to relax back into her seat and continue her vigil when the monitors began to beep and chirp in loud protest. "No! Baby! No! Don't leave me!"

The bedroom door behind her burst open and Miranda could hear rushing footsteps as medical staff poured into the room. She couldn't look at them. She knew what this meant yet she couldn't believe it. She refused to believe.

Somebody put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Sanders, Miranda, Brylee's heart has arrested, do you want us to try and revive her?"

Without turning to face Dr. Slater who had just addressed her, she immediately responded. "Yes! You've got to save her!"

"OK. I'll need you to step back while we do this."

Reluctantly, Miranda pushed herself off of her chair and released Brylee's hand. She moved to the nearest corner of the room and watched with pain and horror as the doctors connected Brylee to a defibrillator and zapped her over and over as they tried to get her heart back into a steady rhythm.

After what seemed like an eternity to Miranda, Dr. Slater turned to face her and the expression he wore told her what he was about to say.

"NO!" she cried out, unable to accept what he was going to tell her. "It's too soon. Don't give up on her now! Please," she begged in despair.

"I'm very sorry, Miranda. We have been trying to get her heart steadied for more than thirty minutes. She is too weak. Her body just isn't capable of sustaining itself anymore."

"No!" Miranda cried and collapsed onto Dr. Slater's shoulder, burying her face in it.

The doctor patted her back in sympathy. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Sanders."

Miranda didn't know what to do with all the grief she was feeling. It welled in her heart and bubbled slowly out of her, gradually turning into frustration and anger, first at the unfairness of the world and then slowly focusing on one single person. She felt her hands curling into fists as she bit by bit channeled all her rage into a vengeful wish.

She moved away from Dr. Slater and uttered quietly. "I want to be alone with my daughter."

"Of course," the doctor didn't argue. "OK, let's give Mrs. Sanders some time alone with her child."

Mumbled agreement came from all the medical staff and they all shuffled hurriedly out of the room, blurting out apologies as they passed Miranda. She just wanted the door to shut behind them. She had something to do and for that she needed privacy.

Finally, the last staff member had left the room. Miranda moved next to her daughter's bed and drew the curtain around it. She didn't want anybody peeping at her from the room's window. "Brylee my lovely, Mommy is going to punish the doctor who lied to us. Mommy will make her suffer for what she did!"

 

* * *

 

 

Mulder wanted to fall to the ground and kiss it as he exited the cab. The ride to the hospital seemed like a never ending torture. He had stopped counting the number of times he'd tried to reach Scully's cell and the numerous curses he hurled at the contraption when he was once again confronted with the dull tone of the generic answering service.

He ungraciously shut the cab's door with his butt and hurried inward. A sudden purr resonating from his jacket pocket almost made him jump out of his shoes. He shook his head as he realized just how tense he was and pulled his cell from his pocket. He quickly checked the name on the phone's screen and groaned in frustration. It was Skinner. Not that he had an issue with the AD's call; he'd just hoped to see a different name.

He flipped the cell open and answered dully, "One unsatisfied customer speaking."

"Excuse me?" Skinner oozed bafflement.

Mulder chuckled, "Sorry Walter, just one of those days."

"I see," Skinner remarked. "Well, I don't know if this will brighten your day or just add to your burden, but I thought you might like to know that I found your smoking gun."

Mulder grimaced and braced himself for what Skinner was going to say next. "Give it to me."

"I did as you asked and cut a hole in each of the red-haired dolls and removed their stuffing. I found slices of Scully's nametag inside each and every one of them, along with a list of words scribbled on paper."

Mulder wasn't too surprised as he heard Skinner's findings. He'd expected as much. "What words? Can you give me the entire list?"

In the background Skinner released a sigh. "OK. The words are _"doubt", "self-destruction", "self-loathing", "panic", "fear", "emotional pain", "insecurity", "loss of control", "hysteria", "dysfunction", "depression", "mania", "distrust", "irritability"_ and _"paranoia_ ". That's it."

Mulder wanted to go and shove his fist into somebody. He knew it! He sort of even expected it, but to have his notions confirmed and to know that the target of these words was Scully made him feel like a fully loaded gun about to be discharged. "FUCK!" he hurled at nobody in particular and accompanied his curse with a shaking fist. "Fuck!" he cursed again, and an unsuspecting passer-by stopped at his tracks and looked at him with shock in his eyes. Mulder waved him away with his hand. The guy gave Mulder a rather pissed-looking expression accompanied with 'the finger', grumbled under his breath and left the scene.

"Mulder, I think you should calm yourself down," Skinner almost demanded.

Mulder let out a miserable snort. "This is me, calm, Walter, believe you me."

"Right," Skinner sounded doubtful. "Anyway, I'm packing the dolls and their… innards, and taking them with me as evidence. What say I meet you at the hospital and we can discuss this further?"

"Discuss…." Mulder laughed cynically. "There's no time for discussion here! Didn't you understand what's going on here?!" Mulder was incredulous. Skinner seemed to be totally clueless as to the severity of his findings. "While I wait for you to come over so we can 'discuss things further', Scully could possibly be dying!"

"Now, I think you might be jumping the gun here, Mulder—"

"I don't have time for this—"

"Mulder…" Skinner said, his voice a warning, "You betta not do anything rash—"

"Like what?" Mulder jeered sardonically.

"Like barging uninvited into Brylee Sanders' room."

Mulder smiled. Skinner knew him all too well. "What makes you think I'd do that?" he asked with mock innocence.

"Dammit, Mulder!" Skinner had lost what little patience he had left.

"What?" he continued with the innocent boy attitude.

"If you do anything stupid, I won't be able to save your butt this time."

"You don't have to worry 'bout me, Walter," Mulder sing-sang to the AD. "I'm a big boy, y'know."

"MUL—"

Mulder snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. There was no point in continuing the endless song-and-dance with Skinner. Both of them knew what the other's position was and none intended on budging any time soon. Besides, he wasn't his subordinate anymore.

He began walking across the hospital's entrance lobby and his phone buzzed again. He grimaced and considered ignoring it, then realized it could be Scully. He snatched it from his pocket, took a peek at the number on the screen and huffed. "Fuck off, Skinner!" he spat at the number on the screen. If it weren't for the fact that he was still hoping Scully would come to her senses and call him, he would've turned the damned thing off altogether. As it were, he was forced to endure several more attempts of Skinner trying to get a hold of him.

After the sixth call Skinner sent him a text message. _'Mulder, wait for me!'_

Mulder took in the message and glared at the phone's screen. By then he was already exiting the elevator on the second floor and heading towards the Pediatric Oncology ward where he hoped for his and Miranda Sanders' sake that he would find Scully safe and sound.

He was about to follow somebody into the ward when he received another text message, then another and another and they kept on coming. _Skinner must've lost it_ , he thought and with disgruntlement, once again his fingers fished the communication device out of his pocket. He peered at the screen in disbelief and blinked. Thirty Seven new messages. _Hello?_ He hadn't realized Skinner cared so much about him. He flipped the phone open and clicked on the first message. It read: _'I hope you have come to your senses. I'm sending you those close-ups of the dolls that you asked for. I think you'd like to take a look at them.'_

_Brilliant stalling technique, Walter, I'll give you that_ , Mulder thought to himself as he began analyzing the photos Skinner had sent him. He looked at each and every photograph with extreme scrutiny, using his eidetic memory to scan them into his brain for future reference as well as for cross-reference. The more he stared at the photos, the tighter the knot, that had begun forming in his belly, became. It was hard to notice in the photos he had first received from Skinner as they were taken inside Miranda's condo and the lighting there wasn't great, but the new close-ups were taken outside, in broad daylight and Mulder could now see what the bad lighting had covered up.

Each of the dolls' limbs was riddled with tiny drawings and scribbles, all done with a very fine pen with a color that almost resembled the dolls' body color, thus making those doodles and letterings barely discernable, especially under bad lighting conditions.

From the looks of things, the sketches on the limbs were meant to resemble various skin ailments. Some were just drawings, yet others were specific written terms like _'puss', 'scabies', 'rash', 'bedsores'_ and _'blisters'_. Mulder knew Scully had none of those, so he wasn't quite clear how they were used against her, but what was worse were the etchings on the dolls' heads: _'blurriness', 'blindness', 'hallucinations', 'nightmares'_. Mulder's heart began to beat faster. Scully was already being afflicted with some of those conditions. He didn't want to know what else Miranda had in store for her.

At least the dolls were currently stashed in Skinner's car, not to mention they'd all been disarmed. Then Mulder had a shuddering thought. He quickly scrolled down through Skinner's messages until he found the very first photo the AD had sent him; the one of the dolls all sitting in an orderly fashion on Miranda's living room recliner. He stared at it and released a harrowing curse, "Goddammit!"

He slapped his face in anger and disbelief. He'd missed the most important item of all; the gaping hole in the line of dolls, the one between the first 'Scully' doll and the second. The hole where a forth doll should have been; a doll that was probably being used at that very moment by Miranda Sanders against the only person who mattered in his life.


	10. Part Ten

Two minutes into her sobbing session and Scully realized that aside from the throbbing pain in her knee and hand, she couldn’t find a good excuse for her reactions and demeanor. She was beginning to feel extremely irritated with the crazy merry-go-round of emotions she was experiencing. One moment calm and controlled, the next total chaos. It was tiresome.

She recalled what Mulder had said to her about going to that board meeting and she wondered if her current misfortune was part of his bad omen prediction. She hoped this was all that was to it, since it was quite enough as it were.

She tried to get up from the ground, but the moment she attempted to use both her arms to push herself up, she let out an agonized yelp as her left wrist sent excruciating pain signals. She blurted a miserable “Fuck!” as she landed on her butt unceremoniously. This was proving a lot harder than she had conceived. She examined her wrist and noted it was beginning to resemble a misconstrued reddish puff pastry. It could be a number of things; a serious bruise, a very bad sprain, or it could be broken. She feared her last option was right on target as the now disfigured organ began to throb with vengeance and she wondered how she could have born it until now. She put the blame on her unstable behavior and a good bout of adrenaline. Both probably contributed to the original masking of the extent of her injury. Now that she seemed once again to be functioning normally, her adrenaline levels were probably tapering off and her injury chose to raise its ugly head.

She gave her knee a quick glance. It, too, was showing signs of wear and tear. _Just brilliant._ Her mental symptoms were having an amazing effect on her physical state and this only meant that whatever she was suffering from, was escalating. She hated to admit it, but Mulder was right to warn her as well as right about the fact that she should have at least come accompanied.

She sighed as she felt weariness taking over. She felt both mentally and physically drained. She needed to get her injuries treated, but in order to do that, she had to somehow get out of the tiny closet. Since she had barred the door, it was up to her to remedy that situation and for that she had no choice but to get off the floor, however brutal that ordeal was going to be.

She looked around her. The closet walls were overlaid with sets of metal racking stacked with supplies. She pushed herself backwards, with the assistance of her unaffected limbs, then twisted her body so she was half facing the metal shelving. She grabbed hold of one of the racking's posts with her healthy hand and hefted herself to a standing position as she pushed her body upwards with her uninjured leg. Trying to achieve this effort didn't come without a price as she kept making sudden movements with her aching hand and knee while she tried to keep her balance, but a few good curses later and she was standing in a fully erect position. As she tried to catch her breath, she realized how good it was that she had managed to keep such a slender figure. She wasn't sure those shelves would have supported her otherwise.

She limped slowly towards the closet door, trying her best to keep herself in a vertical stature. The distance was practically nothing, yet it took her more than ten mini-strides to reach it. Each step felt like agony as she was forced to lean on her bad leg. She winced in pain and felt moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. She barely caught her breath once she had reached her destination. Through gasps and pants, she yanked the broom from within the door handle. As she did so, she leaned heavily on the door for support and tried to keep her weight focused on her uninjured leg. Finally successful, she prepared herself for the movement required to move her back from the closet door so she could open it and escape her once-sanctuary-turned-prison-cell. She heaved a deep breath and gingerly put her stricken foot on the floor when she suddenly felt a sharp pain journeying through her chest. _No! No! No!_ This wasn't happening! Not to her! Not Now!

The pain in her chest refused to subside. She tried to breathe in, but her lungs felt constricted, as if someone was putting tremendous pressure on them. She could feel her heartbeat rising as it tried to compensate for the lack of oxygen and gradually she sensed her body slide to the ground along the closet door. She would have screamed if only she could but she wasn't able to move any air in or out of her body. The only thought that remained in her oxygen-deprived brain was a death wish. She wanted the agony done with.

All of a sudden the intense pressure that fixated on her chest ceased. Scully let out a painful gasp then sucked in fresh air back into her lungs. Her head was pounding. So was her heart. She lay against the closet door, her body limp, devoid of energy, trying to come to terms with what had just occurred, yet failing miserably. Adrenaline still coursed through her blood stream, making the pain in her hand and knee seem as if it were a dull ache. With her able palm, she massaged her chest where a mere second or two ago, it had felt as if a boot had been standing, crushing her ribs to smithereens.

Her eyes scanned the tiny closet aimlessly until they landed on her deserted handbag lying on the floor where she’d dropped it when she'd first entered the room. She leaned slowly forward, and used her good hand to grab hold of it. Once it was safe in her lap, she dug into it and retrieved her cell. She’d switched it to silent when she had entered the meeting. Mulder had rung her several times while she was on the way to the hospital. She had chosen to ignore him because she didn’t want his persistent nagging to interfere with her session with the board. She had forgotten to switch it off silent mode; well, she wondered if she’d subconsciously chosen not to do it, then she brushed that thought aside. She gulped with surprise as she looked at the phone’s screen. _Mulder, you crazy man!_ He’d rung her more than 100 times! She shook her head in disbelief, then terrible guilt settled in. “Damn.”

She needed his help and she hated that fact but she was no fool. This was no time for silly games of pride. From the numerous texts he’d left her she knew he was probably already at the hospital. She’d call him, admit he was right and let him help her. Her mind now set, she flipped the phone open, but as she was about to press his speed dial number, a second bout of pain took control of her body. This pain was different. It felt as if there was a bear trap closing on her waist. The phone dropped from her hand and snapped shut as she let go of it and clutched her right side moaning in agony. She felt warm sticky fluid encapsulating her fingers. She didn't need to look at it to know it was blood oozing from a wound that had opened in her abdomen. She felt herself weakening as she continued losing blood. "Help," she called out in vain but her strength was almost gone and her cry was but a shadow of a whimper at best. There was slight chance of anybody even noticing anything from the other side of the closet door. Once again all she could do was scream in her mind, but this time she wished for a miracle. _Mulder, help me_ , she called out to him, hoping that somehow he’d sense her, but to no avail.

The feeling as if several knives were stuck in her side continued and she wished for her consciousness to fade, yet for reasons unknown to her, she remained alert. She was able to feel each and every sharp invisible object being poked into her as it speared her internal organs. It was pure torture. There was no other word to describe what was happening to her. Why wouldn't it end? Why wouldn't her body succumb to it already and free her of this living nightmare?

Suddenly, as it had happened before, the excruciating pain ceased, leaving a gashing wound in her torso. At least her pain levels were a far cry from what they had been seconds ago. By now she had stopped hoping that she'd seen the end of it. So far, whenever she'd envisioned things couldn't get any worse, they somehow did. She had no idea what was in store for her next. Hurriedly, she fumbled for her phone, hoping she'd manage to call Mulder this time. She was finding it hard to flip the device open. Her hand was coated in bloody goo and trembles of shock were shooting through her body, making it almost impossible for her to control her movements.

She squinted hard, trying to concentrate on making her fingers obey. She'd just about gotten them to settle down when out of the blue she felt her body being propelled by an invisible force and she was hurled through the tiny closet as if she were a helpless rag doll. Her body's final destination was the metal shelving on the opposing closet wall. The loud explosion in her head was the last thing she heard and felt before blissfully surrendering to the darkness.

* * *

Mulder felt nauseous as he tucked the phone back in his pocket. The full extent of Miranda’s plan had been revealed and he was now more determined than ever to put an end to it despite Skinner’s numerous attempts to keep him from going overboard. There was just no way he could stand by and let this happen. Nobody in their right mind would.

Trying to appear casual, he followed one of the Pediatric Oncology patrons into the ward. The place seemed to be bustling with people. That was a good thing for Mulder who needed to somehow blend in with the crowd. He held himself back and strode lightly along the corridor, making sure to keep everybody’s attention off of him. Finally he arrived at Brylee’s room. He snuck a few hurried glances around him, double-checking nobody was watching. When he was certain the coast was clear, he opened the room’s door as slowly as possible, making sure to make no sound as he entered then he gently shut it behind him.

The first thing he saw as he entered the room was the drawn bed-curtain. _Odd_ , he thought to himself. The curtain was usually drawn for medical procedures or for activities requiring privacy. The eerie silence in the room told him that no such procedure or activity was currently taking place behind said curtain. His already piqued suspicion intensified. Had he a gun, it would have been drawn by now, but as it had been quite some time since he'd carried one, all he could do for now was clench his jaw and proceed with extreme caution.

He took a slow step, aiming for the far right corner of the room, when he thought he'd heard rustling sounds from behind the curtain. He stopped in his tracks, hoping whoever was with him in the room won't choose that very moment to show his or her face. After possibly thirty seconds when nothing happened, Mulder cautiously proceeded to the room's corner, got into a crouching position and waited for his opportunity.

He didn’t have to wait long. Probably two to three minutes into his stakeout and he could hear hushed blubbering coming from behind the bed’s curtain. He listened intently, trying to make out what was being said. It wasn’t easy as the person who was talking was doing so in between choked sobs and snivels. It was Miranda, and she definitely didn’t sound right.

“…baby…” Miranda cried and choked on her tears. “Please come back to me. Brylee, don’t leave me…” she coughed loudly as tears clogged her throat. “I… I p…promise you to take care… “ Miranda stifled another cough. “I will not let her get away with it. She… will suffer for what she did to you… to me… See, Brylee? See what I’m doing? It’s for you, baby… for you…” She sobbed.

Mulder had heard enough. It was time to step behind that curtain and make his presence known, whatever the consequences. He stood up, took one step and pulled the curtain to the side. “Stop what you’re doing!” he ordered Miranda.

Mrs. Sanders was totally taken off guard by Mulder’s surprise intervention. Her first reaction was a frightened gasp and an alarming shriek. Then she quickly came to her senses and she screamed at the top of her voice, “GET OUT YOU BASTARD!!!”

Mulder had immediately noted Miranda’s actions as he barged in on her unannounced. She’d been leaning on top of Brylee and in between her body and the body of her dead daughter she was squashing the form of the fourth ‘Scully’ doll. He ignored her screaming, got around the bed, put his arms around her waist and pulled her off of her daughter’s body as she raved and kicked like the mad woman that she was. She didn’t let go of the doll. She held it close to her chest and kept on compressing it with her fingers. Mulder let go of her and tried to grab the doll.

“Get away from me you crazy bastard!” Miranda cried out and took a step back. Her body collided with the bed and she lost her balance and fell to the ground.

Mulder lunged at her and got hold of the doll’s legs, then he realized that if he pulled too much there was a good chance he might tear the thing apart  and he had no idea what this might mean for Scully. Grudgingly, he let go.

Miranda was pulling back in an effort to prevent him from taking the doll. The moment Mulder let go, she fell back so hard, that Mulder couldn’t ignore the loud thud her body made as it connected with the bed’s metallic rungs. He thought that this was enough to put her down but he was wrong. She was now so enraged that she lost whatever was left of her meager attempt to appear sane. She gave Mulder a completely deranged stare and then she lifted the doll close to her face and sunk her teeth into its torso.

Mulder was beside himself. He opened his mouth to speak then thought the better of it. He plunged at the lunatic woman and put both his palms around her neck, trying to force the air out of her so she’d release the doll from the grip of her jaws. As he held her throat in between his hands, he shook her vigorously hoping she’d see the light before he went too far. To his horrific disappointment, not only did she not let go of the doll, she seemed even more determined to keep her teeth deeply submerged in it.

“Open your mouth!” Mulder cried.

Miranda had no intention of giving him the satisfaction. Instead she stared deeply into his eyes and Mulder could see that she was far beyond repent. She was so miserable that she seemed to wish Mulder would do her in. With the doll still stuck in her mouth, Mulder could see she was grinning. It was the grin of a mad woman. He realized she would rather die than let go of that doll. She couldn’t care less. He loosened his grip and he couldn't ignore the expression of immense pleasure forming in her crazed eyes. It drove him overboard. Either she lived or Scully lived. The choice was clear for him. Sweat beads drifted off his forehead. His entire body was now trembling as adrenaline took it over. He clenched his teeth and hissed at Miranda, “You crazy witch!” then he dug his fingers with all his might into the woman’s neck and blared, “I won’t let her die, you hear me! I won’t—“

His angry tirade was broken by the exploding sound of a door being thrust open with immense force. At that very fraction of a second, Miranda gave him her best unhinged glare and popped her mouth open. The red-haired doll plopped into her lap just as the bed curtain was yanked behind him. Mulder had been so anguished and taught, he was totally unprepared for the barrage that came upon him. He was literally caught red-handed. Despite scrambling to remove the evidence, i.e., his palms, from the death grip they bestowed upon Miranda's throat, it was pretty obvious his actions had not been lost on the uninvited guests.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" A woman bellowed at the top of her voice.

He turned around and gave the furious nurse a squeamish grin. "Err… she… fell…"

"Don't give me _that_ , mister! I happen to have 20/20 vision. I know what _I_ saw." She wouldn't take any nonsense.

Mulder opened his mouth but Miranda beat him to it.

"He's crazy! He tried to kill me!" she squealed with deranged frenzy.

Mulder felt he was losing the battle. His only consolation was the fact that the doll was finally out of Miranda's insidious hands. He tried to snatch it before Miranda could get it back in her custody, but once again the maniacal mother got the upper hand. Before he could close his grip on the doll, she tore it away from him and threw it behind her. The miserable moppet went flying across the room, where it hit the bed curtain on the other side and skidded along it till it met the ground. Mulder wasn't happy that he hadn't managed to grab it before Miranda did, but at least it was currently out of her reach. Now, if only he could somehow prevent her from getting hold of it again.

He didn't have much time to wonder, though. The enraged nurse got hold of his arm and she was now pulling him upright. Mulder couldn't help but admire the strength the woman had in her arms. She got him back to a standing position in seconds flat. Now she was looking him right in the eye and Mulder winced. Her stern glare alone made him feel pretty darn small at that very moment. It almost competed with the mean stares Scully often gave him when he was about to do something foolish.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you hassling this poor woman?"

Mulder squirmed. "I… I…"

"Speak up and explain yourself or I'm calling the police!"

"You do that, Peg!" Miranda lashed from behind. "This goddamn man tried to murder me!"

"Calm down, Miranda. You mustn't upset yourself like this." The nurse called out to the lunatic mother.

"I'd do no such thing! Look at what he'd done to me! Look!"

Mulder wanted to look behind him to see what Miranda was now showing the nurse, but one quick glower from Peg and he kept his stance.

"Mister, you're in serious trouble." She turned to the second nurse in the room, "Go get security." The younger nurse nodded and left in a hurry. Peg turned around and faced Mulder, "and don't you try anything funny now. I think you should know that I am the proud owner of a black belt in Taekwondo and I am mighty fast, you catch my drift?"

Mulder definitely caught on. He smiled sheepishly and remained silent. The less he spoke, the less he incriminated himself. Alas, he had no idea how he'd get out of this mess and in the meanwhile Scully was still MIA and he hoped for dear God that he'd gotten to Miranda in time.

There was a loud commotion coming from behind the bedroom door and Mulder assumed it was the security entourage coming to take him away. The door was once against flung ajar and into the room came a familiar spectacled form with his voice booming as he entered. _Skinner!_ Mulder almost smiled, then he caught the nurse's threatening scowl and he stopped himself mid-smirk.

At the sound of Skinner's roaring tone, the 'Karate-Nurse' frowned and turned around. "Who the _hell_ are you?"

Skinner didn't waste time. He shoved his hand into his jacket and flashed his badge at the furious nurse. At that very moment Mulder would have given anything to have his badge back. It had saved him from trouble oodles of times. Then he had an afterthought; it had also gotten him in trouble thrice as much. He shook his head, brushing away the silly memory as he wondered if Skinner could release him from Nurse Ratched's 'friendly' embrace.

"FBI? Who called you? What's _he_ gotta do with you?" Nurse Peg didn't seem to be the type who easily relinquished command.

Skinner flaunted his G-Man expression as he spoke. "That's classified, ma'am."

The nurse gave the A.D. an unimpressed harrumph. "Classified? What's all this fucking hogwash? This man entered _my_ ward and assaulted a patient's parent and _you're_ gonna let him get away with this load of bull for an explanation? Who're you kiddin' sir?!"

Skinner blinked.

_Ah-ah_ , Mulder blanched. This wasn't looking too good. _C'mon, Walter. You can do it_ , he cheered the A.D. in his mind.

"Well?!" the nurse demanded impatiently, then looked at the younger nurse who came in behind Skinner, "didn't I tell you to go get security?!"

The nurse gulped. "I'm sorry, Peg. He caught me on the way to get them, flashed his badge and I assumed he'd be just as good."

Peg sent the younger nurse a menacing stare and the miserable girl flinched with discomfort. "Go get'em!" Peg charged and then added for emphasis, "Now!"

_Fuck!_ Mulder's crest fell as he saw his hope extinguished before his very eyes.

"Maybe this is just fucking crap to you, ma'am, but as far as I'm concerned this man is going with me, and should you have a damn problem with that, you can file a complaint with the bureau. Now unhand him and I'll take him to where we will continue with his interrogation."

Mulder's eyes brightened. _Way to go Skinman!_

The uber-nurse tried to stare Skinner down but it was proving mighty hard to do as she glared at the towering A.D.  Finally she released her hold on Mulder's bicep. He almost let out a hefty sigh of relief. She'd begun to hinder the circulation to his limb with her vice grip. He shook his arms and kept his gaze directed at the ground. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of something red at the corner of his eye. He gazed sideways and noted it was the bedeviled 'Scully' doll. It remained on the floor where it had landed earlier. He sent Skinner a sideways peep hoping to somehow grab his attention. To his dismay, the A.D.'s mind was elsewhere. Mulder let out a subtle grunt and that had the desired effect. Skinner turned to face him and Mulder nodded gently with his head at the direction of the strewn doll.

Skinner sent him a 'don't you dare mess with me' glare, making sure Mulder behaved himself. Mulder sighed with grave disappointment and followed the A.D. out of the deceased child's room with his head bowed down.

"Skinner," Mulder whispered rather loudly as Brylee's bedroom door shut behind them.

"Not now!" the A.D. commanded.

Mulder rolled his eyes and followed Skinner as he trudged along the busy ward's corridor. He'd been saved by the bell but he was far from rejoicing. Miranda Sanders was practically still at large and her instrument of torture was at her arm's reach. All she had to do was to get rid of the gathered crowd in her daughter's room and she could resume her atrocious acts against Scully. Now that his cover of anonymity had been lifted, he had a fat chance of returning to the scene of the crime and preventing Miranda from killing Scully. If she hadn't done so already, he added as a terrible afterthought.

They crossed into the second floor hallway and soon after he found himself following Skinner into the men's room. Skinner quickly made sure all the stalls were vacant and then finally spoke. "If not for Scully, Mulder, I think I would have let you hang by that fine rope you so gracefully extended yourself."

Mulder opened his mouth in protest but Skinner wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"I don't know why you keep behaving like this disobedient teenager and why I am once again finding myself playing your father's role, bailing you out of these impossible situations! Do you know what's at stake for me here, Mulder? Do you ever stop to think whose livelihood you put at risk when you barge into people's lives as if you owned them? Do you?"

Mulder was peeved. “Nobody asked you to come and bail me out! You’re not the boss of me anymore!”

“Oh, cut the crap!” Skinner spat. “If you didn’t want me involved, you shouldn’t have called me in the first place! You know I would never let you rot in there, no more than Scully would have.” He sighed. “It’s just…“ Skinner scratched his head, “It’s like you are totally blind to anything else when you get into these situations. I can’t let you ruin yourself even if you don’t give a shit about what happens to you…”

Mulder suddenly felt deflated. Of course he had no intention of fucking things up for Skinner. It wasn’t Skinner he had in mind when he jumped Miranda Sanders. “I can’t find her, Walter. I’m afraid that if I don’t find her soon and if we don’t find a way to stop Miranda, then…” he trailed off as tears came rushing from the corners of his eyes and bubbling up his throat. He grabbed his face in between his hands, feeling defeated and hopeless.

“C’mon,” Skinner said.

“What?” Mulder asked hoarsely as he rubbed the moisture from his eyes.

“Let’s go find her.”

“How? I’ve been trying to call her for three hours now and she’s not answering.”

“I’ll make a call and ask the tech department to triangulate her phone signal.”

“And what if it’s off?” Mulder asked as they both exited the men’s room and began walking down the hallway.

“What if it’s on? We can at least try.” Skinner said as he dug his cell out of his jacket pocket.

“And anyway,” Mulder continued, “I’m almost certain she’s still at the hospital, and if that’s the case, then I doubt triangulation would do us any good. There’s just so much they can pinpoint.”

“I’ll call in a favor. Get my men to help canvas the place.” Skinner stopped in his tracks and looked Mulder in the eye. “We’ll find her. We always do, OK?”

Mulder felt awkward yet grateful. He nodded assent, then let his gaze drop to the ground feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Skinner will indeed try his utmost for Scully, Mulder had no doubt about that and he did appreciate it, yet he wondered if by the time help came their way, if it wouldn’t be too late for Scully. Just then he noticed a tiny shimmer at the corner of his eye. He squinted. _What the…_ He directed his gaze towards the glistening object and his eyes widened with awe. He darted in its direction.

“Mulder?” a baffled Skinner called from behind him. “What are you doing?”

By then Mulder was already on all fours, staring with disbelief at the petite shiny object he’d just collected from the ground. It was Scully’s cross necklace. He picked it by its chain and showed Skinner his miracle finding. “She’s here,” he managed to blurt out as his heart began to beat profoundly. He got up and looked around him. There was a green door just next to where he’d found the golden cross. With new found hope in his heart, he pushed the door’s handle down. It gave way and opened and there she was, sprawled on the closet floor, her body and her face both contorted. Mulder gasped at the sight of her disastrous state. He looked back at Skinner who registered the horror in his eyes, nodded, turned around and dashed like crazy back towards the Pediatric Oncology ward.

Mulder rushed to Scully’s side as he yelled for help at the top of his voice.

* * *

Miranda watched with anticipated glee as finally the door shut behind Nurse Peg and her liaison. "Phew," she let out with exhilarated relief, "I'd thought they'd never leave."

Over time, as Brylee got sicker, she'd begun talking out loud to herself. Sometimes she'd address Brylee in her lonely monologues, sometimes she'd talk about herself in the third person and sometimes she'd just plain talk directly to herself.

"Miranda, do you want a cup of tea? Miranda, can I take your pulse? Miranda, can I bla bla bla!" she mockingly mimicked the worried words of the nurses who'd just left her room. "I said I wanted _nothing_ you idiot twerps!" she seethed. "All I want is to be left alone with my Brylee, you dickheads!" she spat bitterly and then broke down in tears and collapsed to the ground.

She wailed aloud in cracked sobs, her heart feeling as if it were in shreds. "What am I going to do now?" she cried out in misery. "What am I going to do now without my baby?" she bawled.

She remained on the bedroom floor for a while crying her heart out and feeling sorry for herself. Eventually her tears dried up and the sadness in her heart was pushed aside as her anger returned at full thrusters. She got up and searched behind her daughter's bed for the 'Scully' doll she tossed earlier.

"If Brylee has to die, so should Dr. Scully!" she said as she stared at the doll's button eyes. "I will be doing this hospital a favor. They would have to thank me later for preventing any further damage," she added smugly.

With the doll still in her hand she padded towards the medical supply trolley that had been left in Brylee's room after her resuscitation attempts. She placed the doll on top, pulled the first drawer open and quickly skimmed its contents as she rummaged through it. Unable to find the instrument she was looking for, she forcefully shut the drawer and using equal force she tugged hard at the second drawer. She repeated her frenzied search till she reached the fifth drawer where she let out a triumphant cry. "Yes!" she uttered as she picked up a pair of stitch removal scissors. "These would be perfect."

She shuffled back to her daughter's bedside with the ‘Scully’ moppet secured under her arm; she leaned close to the dead child's face and whispered in her ear, "I love you honey." She laid the homemade doll on top of her daughter's body and hefted the scissors as if they were a makeshift dagger, pointing towards the doll's abdomen. She let out a deafening cry and plunged the sharp instrument at the doll with all her might, focusing all her rage at it, but just as she was about to make contact she took in her daughter's peaceful expression and she suddenly felt limp. Her palms parted and the scissors hit the doll's midsection and tore through it but with far less force than she had originally intended.

"NO!" Miranda cried out in anger. "It's _me_ who should be with my daughter! Not that _bitch_ doctor!" She threw her stuffed creation behind her as rage took over, then she grabbed the scissors and thrust them with tremendous pressure into her neck. As blood began to spew from her wound and from her mouth she managed to gurgle "I'm umming baby…" Then she staggered backwards and plopped onto the chair, a serene smile plastered to her face.

* * *

Skinner pressed the Pediatric Oncology buzzer frantically. "C'mon," he prodded with anguish. Trust blasted Murphy to make sure there was no one nearby with access to the ward when he needed it the most. Now he had to rely on the availability of the nurses or the clerk at the front desk and it seemed to him as if they had all chosen this very moment to take their lunch break.  Of course he knew deep down that it was just his heightened stress that made it feel as if nobody was currently available, but somehow this logic didn't seem to help his stress levels one bit.

Finally a nasally voice dilly-dallied out of the intercom. "Yes?"

Skinner held down the intercom's button and responded, "My name is Walter Skinner. I'm with the FBI. It is imperative that you let me in immediately!"

"Are you a relative?" the nasally voice continued as if Skinner hadn't spoken a word.

Skinner blinked. _What is it with this place?_ "Ma'am, open the door, Now!" he ordered.

"Can you hold, please." the disembodied voice told Skinner.

Skinner clenched his jaw in anger and shook his head in disbelief. He was tempted to draw his gun and shoot his way in but instead he waited another thirty seconds that seemed to last an eternity. Finally the intercom crackled back to life.

"I'm sorry that you had to wait, sir. Can you please repeat your name and state your business with this ward?"

Skinner heaved a deep breath and chanted a relaxation mantra in his mind. "My name is Walter Skinner. I'm an FBI Assistant Director. I have an urgent matter to handle in your ward. I'd appreciate being let in."

"FBI? Sure. Why didn't you say so sooner?" the voice wondered aloud.

Skinner rolled his eyes, then heaved a sigh of relief as the electric doors parted. "Thanks," he blurted to the intercom lady and hurried inward.

As he rushed through the ward's corridor, he was certain he'd managed to get through all the obstacles in his way. He'd been totally off target, though. He was nearing the ward's front desk when a familiar, relatively wide structured nurse appeared before him. He'd almost collided into the nurse barricade. She put her hand up and signaled him to stop.

_You are **not** serious_ , he thought as he glared impatiently at the charge nurse. "Excuse me."

Peg gave him a stern look-over. "Where's the guy?" she queried.

Skinner was befuddled. "Who?"

"The guy you took custody of?" she answered with a question and raised her eyebrow at him, half frowning.

_Fuck!_ Skinner resisted the urge to wince. "I… handed him over to one of my men."

Nurse Peg gave him a look that said she had zero belief in what he had just said. "Sure…"

Skinner was fed up with the nurse and her irritating attitude. "Look, I think I might have forgotten something in that patient's room. I have to find it before it's too late."

The nurse gave him a sideways look. "Hmmm…"

Skinner tried to stare her down again, but the nurse wasn't buying it this time.

"It'll just be a couple of minute and I'll be out of your hair."

She snorted. Skinner had just about made up his mind to shove her aside and push forward when he heard rushing footsteps approaching. He turned around and saw a nurse heading towards them.

"Peg!" the approaching nurse called out. "Somebody attacked one of the doctors outside. I think it's somebody from our ward. I wasn't able to get a good look, too many people working on her."

Skinner turned to face Peg. The nurse's angry scowl turned into a worried frown and Skinner finally saw her gentler side. The other thing he saw was his break. Amazingly, Scully was in essence saving herself, he mused.

Skinner looked at Peg and gave her his best 'give me a break' expression. She heaved a deep sigh as a response.

"Jen," she called out to the nurse who, unbeknownst to her, had been giving her the heads up regarding Scully's misfortune, "This is …?" she gave Skinner a querying glance.

"Walter Skinner," he answered her question.

She nodded and continued. "He's from the FBI. He thinks he might've forgotten something in Brylee's room. Can you escort him and help him out?"

"Where're _you_ going?" Nurse Jen pried.

"To see if they might need help outside," she yelled behind her back as she hurried down the corridor. 

Jen snorted. "To see if they need help. Yeah, right," she muttered sarcastically. "More like to butt yourself into something that isn't your _Goddamn_ business, _I'd_ say."

Skinner smirked sheepishly at the nurse's remark.

The nurse harrumphed. "Come on. Let's get this over with.

He knew the way but he obediently followed the dejected nurse as she slowly trudged along the hallway, emitting lethargic sighs all through the way which Skinner deduced were related to the fact that she got the boring job of babysitting the FBI Assistant Director and not the exciting trauma outside.

He was debating whether he should convince her that she was off the hook. It would serve both their interests after all but by then they'd already reached room 202 and Skinner was startled out of his reverie by the nurse's surprised cry.

"JESUS!"

The nurse's shocked reaction sent shivers along Skinner's spine. Something seemed to be terribly wrong. The nurse had yet to open the door to Brylee's room but she'd obviously seen something as she peered through the circular window in the room's door. Skinner huddled behind her and snuck a peek. The bed curtain was drawn around the deceased child's bed but there was a gap of about fifteen or so inches above ground and it revealed a pair of bare legs that seemed to have blood trickling along them. The fabric sneakers worn by the bleeding person were now completely crimson colored and they stood within a small pool of blood.

Skinner looked at the wide-eyed nurse and calmly asked her to go and get help. The nurse nodded and hurried back to the front desk. Skinner flung the door open, pulled the bed curtain aside and took in the horror show.

* * *

Mulder trotted behind the fast moving gurney. He could hardly make out Scully's form through the vast number of medical professionals escorting her. They kept asking him what had happened and he kept coming up with no rhyme or reason. They all agreed she was attacked and by the sneaking glances they kept directing at him, he suspected he was the person they were putting the blame on. The only thing saving him from being arrested there on the spot was the fact that Scully's condition was so dire they had no time to deal with anything else.

She was unconscious and thus could not redeem him but he couldn't care less. At least he found her and she was still alive, albeit, barely. She was holding her own despite her breathing being extremely labored. There was blood oozing from a wound on her abdomen and they suspected she had a number of crushed ribs, a bad wrist fracture and probably an additional number of internal injuries. They were now towing her to radiology to have her scanned for further assessment and he was tagging along, making sure she was constantly at his sight.

For now it seemed that Miranda had quit her sorcery but he suspected that was only temporary. He was counting on Skinner. He had to get to Brylee's room in time to stop Miranda for good.

"Oh my God!"

Mulder's ears perked at the sound of the familiar female voice. He took his eyes off of Scully's gurney and searched for the source of the voice. _Oh crap!_ It was Nurse Peg of all people.

"Oh my… God! It's… It's Dr. Scully! What the _hell_ happened to her?!" Peg rambled on. "Was she attacked?"

"We don't know," one of Scully's accompanying doctors answered her.

Mulder bowed his head, but his tall stature made him stick out amidst the crowd and sure enough his nemesis nurse caught sight of him. He made no attempt to escape. There was no way he was leaving Scully.

"YOU!" the nurse barked at him.

He could hear her approaching. There was no point to the continued aversion of his eyes. He raised his head and stared into the nurse's blazing blues as she stepped in front of him.

"Hello again," he said meekly.

"Did _you_ do this to her?!" she asked bluntly.

She sure didn't beat about the bushes, he thought. "No. I found her this way. I'm the one who called for help."

"How convenient," she aired sardonically. "First you beat them up, then you play the hero who saves them. I've been around long enough to smell your type for miles!"

"Well, you better get that sense of smell of yours checked," he retorted. He saw no point in trying to appease her. She'd already made up her mind about him.

The peeved nurse was slightly surprised. She hadn't expected the daring tone Mulder was taking with her. Mulder assumed she was used to people cowering before her. He could sniff out a good tyrant any day of the month. "You're in my way," he told her and tried to push through, but the nurse put a muscled grip on his arm, stopping him in his path.

"Let go!" he glared at her.

"I don't think so. You've done enough damage for one day. I will _personally_ make sure you are handed over to security."

Mulder had lost his calm demeanor. There was no way this bitch of a nurse was going to come between him and Scully. "Look now, _sister_ , my name is Fox Mulder and I am Dr. Scully's partner in life. I need to be with her right now."

The ferocious nurse gave him a pitiful sneer. "Her life partner? Seriously? You expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth."

She laughed in his face. "You seem to think I'm some gullible fool that you can play around with. Well tough! Peg Donahue is no doofus. I've been working with Dr. Scully for two years now. Never did she once mention ever living with someone."

"I guess she ain't the sharing kind," Mulder countered. Trust Scully to keep his mention tucked away behind those serious blue eyes of hers, far from prying people's reach. He knew she was only protecting him, but today of all days it would have been nice if she'd communicated his existence to somebody in this God forsaken hospital.

The ruthless nurse didn't seem to enjoy Mulder's antics. She secured her wrap around his arm and began manhandling him towards the nearby elevator. "C'mon, buster!"

Mulder heaved a deep breath and grabbed hold of her arm and tried to pry her hand from his bicep. The nurse hadn't been kidding about her training. She easily resisted Mulder's attempt but Mulder was no first-timer as far as fist-fights were concerned and he managed to land a mean punch to her right cheek. The nurse came back from his stroke a lot more furious than before. Her nostrils flared as she raised her arm in a menacing motion. Mulder braced himself for the incoming blow, as he once again tried to get the masculine nurse's hand off.

All of a sudden he heard the sound of rushing footsteps and somebody was shouting from further down the hallway. "Excuse me!"

With her arm still trained on Mulder, Nurse Peg turned to face whoever was getting in her way. "WHAT?!" she roared.

Mulder looked behind her and noticed it was one of the doctors who'd been treating Scully. He seemed rather puny in comparison to Nurse Peg, and he seemed somewhat taken aback when he took note of the situation he'd butted into.

"Well?" Peg said impatiently, "What is it?"

The doctor looked uneasily first at Peg, then at Mulder. "Are you… Mulder?"

Peg stared down at the apprehensive looking doctor. "What's it to you?!"

Mulder half snorted. She had the gracefulness of an elephant in a china shop. He'd definitely have to get Scully to spill the beans about her once she got better, he mused.

"What's so funny jerk?!" Peg rumbled.

Mulder just smirked and remained silent.

"So? Are you him?" The doctor repeated the question.

Mulder raised his eyebrows at Peg,

"OK, OK, answer him already!" she fretted.

"I'm Mulder."

"Sir, she's asking for you."

"WHAT?!" Peg and Mulder blurted in unison.

Realization dawn on him and his heart exploded as if it were a volcano erupting. "She's awake? Scully's awake?"

"Yes," the edgy doctor replied. "Would you mind following me, please?" he turned around and started walking away.

Mulder delivered Peg an 'I told you so' smirk and then he pointed his gaze towards the nurse's hand that was still entwined around his arm.

"Fine! Go!" she seethed and released him from her clutch.

Mulder wasted no time and scooted hurriedly in the direction the doctor had taken.

He reached Scully just as the elevator doors were about to close on her gurney and surrounding medical party.

"Mind if I butt in?" he mumbled as he nimbly snuck between the shutting doors.

"Mulder?" Scully's faint voice asked from behind the wall of doctors and nurses. "Is that you?"

One of the doctors barely found room to move aside so that Mulder could fit in. "It's me," he said and offered her a gummy beam. She still looked as if she were on death's door. Her body was covered with blood, her wrist was swollen and so was her knee and now there was an impressive bunch of tubes and contraptions added to the mix, but her blue eyes were wide open and alert and that was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered through the oxygen mask.

He leaned closer. "For what?"

"For ditching you."

He chuckled. "I guess payback's a bitch."

Her lips stretched into a smile behind the rubbery mask.

Mulder's heart was doing a silly song and dance at the sight.

To his dismay, her smile tapered off. "What's wrong?" his heart was sinking fast at the sight of her concern.

"I wish I knew," she rasped. "If I didn't know any better I'd think this was…"

"… an X-File?" he finished her sentence.

She gave him a brittle smile.

Mulder could sense her reserve. "It doesn't matter what all of this is," he tried to sway her from the subject. "The bottom line is that it's being taken care off." Mulder hoped that he was right about that assumption.

As if to disprove his point, Scully let out a painful gasp and her face contorted.

Mulder noted her pallor and felt goosebumps exploding all over his body. _FUCK!_

The doctor who'd made room for Mulder previously, shoved him aside as the medical staff fretted and started tossing medical jargon back and forth, whilst they tried to figure out what was happening to Scully.

"She's bleeding!" one of them, Mulder thought he was a nurse, called out.

"What?!" Mulder shot out and tried to peer over the medical professionals' heads.

"This is weird." Another nurse chimed in.

_Weird_. Mulder raised his eyebrow. That was up _his_ alley. He took note at the new center of attention on Scully's body. A freshly created blood stain was now rapidly spreading around the central part of her abdomen.

The medical team got busy tearing whatever remained of Scully's clothes so they could get all her wounds properly exposed. Mulder winced at the sight of what was no other than a straight forward stab wound. The medical staff was baffled.

"Is this a pre-existing wound?" A doctor wondered aloud.

"No way!" another doctor retorted. "A wound like this? There's no chance we'd have missed it."

"But…" A confounded nurse blurted.

"Do you want to tell me this wound just occurred _now_ before our very eyes?" A female doctor interjected.

The second doctor shrugged in response.

The female doctor huffed. "This is crazy!"

Mulder stared at Scully's face. Her eyes were barely open but she was still conscious. _Welcome to our world, doctors,_ Mulder told them in his mind.

"Mulder, what's happening to me?" Scully croaked.

What was he supposed to tell her? Did it really matter _why_ all of this was happening? He looked at her agonized expression and felt as if Miranda had stabbed _him_ in the abdomen. Where the _hell_ was Skinner? Why wasn't he stopping that mad woman from killing Scully?

The lift doors parted. They were at the basement floor. Mulder rushed behind Scully's gurney as the medical team sped through the corridor. He was reaching for his cell when all of a sudden the medical parade came to an abrupt halt and the entire team burst out in shouts and high-pitched hysterical sounding clamors.

Mulder feared the worst as he scrambled to reach them. His call to Skinner was put on the back burner.

"Keep her down!" Mulder heard somebody shouting.

"I'm trying!" another responded. "It's like she's super-strong!"

Mulder was confused. Were they talking about Scully? i.e. the love of his life who was practically a withered leaf just mere seconds ago?

"Get on top of her!" somebody yelled.

Mulder reached center stage and caught a crazy sight; Scully's body seemed to be partially hovering in midair while a bunch of frantic medics were gripping her limbs and trying to somehow pull her back onto the gurney. One of the nurses climbed on top of the gurney and was now clambering on top of Scully in an effort to pin her down. As the nurse got on top of her, it seemed she was now hovering in the air together with a full grown man toppled on her.

He'd seen many a strange things and beings and yet he was still enchanted by this show of paranormal activity. It made him stop in his tracks and stare with awe. Then he mentally slapped himself for his momentary lapse. After all, this was _Scully's_ body under this unusual trance. At least he believed it to be a trance. Then another thought materialized in his mind; what if this was what happened to Scully if her doppelganger doll was tossed into the air? This meant that—

He wasn't able to finish his trail of thought as his notion was realized. Without any warning, Scully's body came crashing down like fallen timber back onto the gurney. The male nurse who'd been stranded on top of her fell to the ground, and as he did so he toppled a doctor and two nurses as if they were bowling pins in a bowling alley. Some of the medical staff members found their hands trapped underneath Scully's body and the rest just stood their completely dumbstruck, too shaken to utter a single word.

Mulder rushed over to check on Scully. Instinctively he grabbed her hand and she gasped in pain. Taken by surprise he immediately released his hold. _She was conscious?! After all of this?! Sheesh_! He shook his head in disbelief.

"M… Mul… d… der…" Scully aired faintly.

"Shshsh… Scully, don't try to speak," he told her as he absentmindedly created grooves through her auburn tresses with his fingertips.

"Wha… hap… penned…?" She ignored him.

He sighed. "You took into the air like a magic carpet."

"N… Nice…" she gave him a weak smile, then abruptly her expression twitched.

Mulder took in her tormented features and his gut twisted in response. _NO!_ He thought that her suffering was finally over. Skinner should have already been by Miranda’s room and taken that cursed doll out of her hands.

He looked at Scully. Her complexion had turned into the shade of wax. Her beautiful rosy lips were draining of color as he watched, sickened. He felt somebody make contact with his body and he found himself being pushed to the side, his fingers tearing from Scully’s hair and pulling unruly strands that got tangled. He staggered, watching as if through a murky glass window as medical staff converged onto Scully, almost wrestling one another as they tried desperately to save her life.

Was this it? After all they had gone through, Scully would find her demise when they were far away from their crusade for the truth? Just when they were finally finding their way back to one another? He almost laughed at the irony.

He tasted iron. He hadn’t realized he’d been biting his lower lip as he agonized over the suffering Scully was enduring before his very eyes. He zigzagged further back as he felt weakness taking him over. His back met with the wall, his legs gave way and he sagged to the ground. He grabbed his face between his hands, feeling Scully’s torn strands of hair now sticking to his teary cheeks. The notion of how unfair the whole situation was annoyed him and he mentally slapped himself for even letting his thoughts travel in that direction while Scully was hanging between life and death.

He conjured her faint smile, just seconds before her expression erupted in pain. Was this the final smile she would ever wear on her lips?

With uncharacteristic detachment he followed the hysteria the medical professionals were airing, almost as if he were watching a dramatic scene from a medical soap opera. The nurses were rushing around the doctors, tossing equipment to and thro. They were supposed to be moving in a rapid fashion befitting such an occasion but to Mulder they seemed to be like snails in a race rushing behind Scully’s body as it refused to slow down its persistent misbehavior. Whatever they threw at it, they always came second best.

The various monitors were screeching in protest and something snapped within him, cracking his façade of apathy. He put his hands to his ears and shut his eyes tight, refusing to bear witness to what was happening.

A strange tingling in his side made him start and his eyelids flew wide open. His hand darted to his waist as his fuzzed-up brain fathomed what the source of the odd vibration was. With his eyes trained back on the drama eventuating before him, he half-heartedly retrieved his pulsating cellphone from his pocket. He didn’t have to search the screen for the caller. Aside from Scully there was only one other person who had his number. Anger registered in his mind when he thought about him. Then he took his accusation back and aimed it at himself. His feelings of guilt over not being able to prevent this disaster made his soul ache. With trembling fingers he clicked the green cellphone button, then he put the device by his ear and listened, not sure he could trust his voice to carry anything of sense.

“Is Scully alright?” Skinner’s contrastingly calm voice flowed out of the phone.

“No,” Mulder choked out.

“She’s _not_ alright?” the A.D.’s tone was filled with surprised confusion. “But…”

“She’s dying and it’s my fault.” Mulder muttered with dejection.

“Mulder? What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Skinner’s bewilderment was grating on his nerves. “What don’t you understand, sir? She’s DYING!”

“Mulder, Miranda is dead.”

Fox Mulder thought he was imagining Skinner’s words. “She’s _dead_?”

“Yes,” Skinner confirmed. “She stabbed herself with a pair of scissors. They’re still working on her but—“

“The doll?!” Mulder barked with extreme urgency. “Where’s the doll?!”

“Mulder? Didn’t you hear what I just told you? Mrs. Sanders is dead!”

“Find that _fucking_ doll, Skinner!” Mulder yelled, sounding like a madman. “NOW!!!”

* * *

Skinner removed the cell from his ear. Mulder kept on raving like a lunatic and he felt his eardrum was about to pop. He was at a loss. Everything seemed clear as daylight just a few seconds ago, albeit the bizarre circumstances. Miranda was set out to get Scully. She was using some magical doll that somehow had an effect on her, so if Miranda was out of the picture, everything should have been resolved, right? Wrong! Miranda had left one red-headed legacy behind and this… thing… was still out there.

Skinner stood at the room's corner, trying his best to keep out of the medical staff's way as they hovered over Miranda's damaged body. Their attempts were futile. The woman had stabbed herself in the carotid artery and she lost blood volume quickly. By the time Skinner and Nurse Jen found her, there wasn't much anyone could do, and yet the medical team tried whatever heroic measures they could. It was a gruesome scene to watch.

He was hoping to hear some good news when he rang Mulder but when he heard his former agent's voice it felt like a kick in his gut.

If only he could find that doll. But the medical staff had yet to clear the room and he wasn't sure they'd appreciate him snooping around. He heaved a heavy sigh, feeling dread encroaching. Mulder and Scully had gone to great lengths in the past to help him in his times of need. He should at least try something. The hell with appearances!

Like a stealthy cat, Skinner quietly crouched close to the ground. His trained eyes began a meticulous scan of the room. He divided it into four sections and each section was then also divided into four. Everything in his direct vision was given a notation within his mind. Items that could conceal the doll would be reviewed once he'd finished his initial scan. It should have been a somewhat time lengthy process but his experience gave him the edge he needed to be able to perform a thorough scrutiny of the premises in a very short amount of time.

The doctors and nurses were still focusing on Miranda and nobody was paying attention to the strange misdemeanors of a certain FBI agent present in the room. Skinner calmly rose back to his full height and casually traversed the room until he reached the wheeled bed stand beside Brylee's bed. With gradual movements he inched the stand's top drawer open, all the while glancing at the medical team, making sure their attention was aimed elsewhere. Once the drawer had been half opened, Skinner sunk his hand into it, and with his eyes still trained on the medical personal, he let his fingers do the walking. His digits felt around the rectangular container in search of the doll's tell-tale cloth or its woolen hair. Seconds later and it was clear the doll wasn't there.

The next item on the menu was the stand's cabinet. This required lowering himself down to the cabinet's level which was somewhat more complicated. He had to devise a way to crouch beside the stand's locker without grabbing anybody's attention, but just as he was contemplating this next move, he heard a muffled high pitched cry. Not only was he shocked by the unexpected sound, so was one of the nurse's standing nearby.

The nurse turned to face Skinner wearing a dumbfounded frown on his face. "What was that?"

"What?" Skinner blurted also trying to figure out the source of the shrill cry he'd also just heard.

Then the high pitched wail sounded again and Skinner suddenly realized its origin. "I'm sorry. I think it's my phone. I must've forgotten to disconnect it." As he apologized, he held the device back to his ear. "Mulder? What's happening?"

"You have it?!" Mulder hoarse voice blared in his ear. "Please tell me you found it because she doesn't have much time…"

Skinner shook his head, feeling like a failure. He swallowed hard, trying to form some sort of a reply but he couldn't bring himself to admit to Mulder that he'd reached the end of his tether. That Scully's luck had run out.

"ANSWER ME!!!" Mulder raged on.

"I'm still searching," he responded wanly.

"That's not good enough!" Mulder yelled.

"I know." There was no point in arguing with a desperate man. Mulder wouldn't accept any excuses and for good reason.

On the other side of the line Skinner could hear Mulder's voice cracking as he desperately begged Scully to hold on. He rubbed his face, almost squashing his cheek in fierce anger at his inability to find the source of Scully's suffering. It had to still be in the room. It was just not in clear sight, that's all. "Just a second," Skinner told Mulder.

Giving up on stealth, Skinner began searching the room as if he were a police officer hunting for drugs. Aggressively opening cabinets; searching under Brylee's bed covers and behind her pillows, going through Miranda's belongings and so forth.

"Hey!" One of the nurses yelled. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Skinner ignored her. It didn't really matter what he'd say to her. She wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Hey! Stop!" The male nurse roared.

Skinner continued his frenzied rummage, discounting the outcries of the furious medical company. Then somebody grabbed hold of his arm and tried to pull him back. Skinner easily released himself from the person's grip then pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it at the converging crowd of unhappy medical staff. "I suggest you don't come any closer." He warned quietly.

The outbursts hushed down immediately. Nobody argued. Skinner kept the gun trained on the medical staff and continued his inquest for the missing doll but after a few more minutes all he had was a room filled with upheaval, a bunch of scared doctors and nurses and two dead bodies. The doll was nowhere to be found.

"For Christ Sake!" he spat out. He'd searched every nook and cranny and the damned moppet had disappeared, as if into thin air. Could somebody have taken the doll out of the room? It was plausible. He was about to ask the medical team if they'd seen somebody carrying out a doll with red hair when his eyes caught sight of Miranda's mutilated form and something clicked.

He waved his gun with fierce determination at the medical staff. "Move that body off that chair."

The medics stared at him with eyes filled with shock, terror and confusion, unsure what to do next.

"Now!" Skinner prodded, pushing his point as he brandished his gun angrily.

The group jumped into action, each grabbing hold of Miranda's crimson clad body. "W… where d… do you w…want us to p…put her?" One of the doctors mumbled as the team hefted the dead woman and slowly moved in Skinner's direction.

"I don't care," Skinner uttered icily. "Just get her off that chair."

The parade approached Skinner's location and he moved forward and switched positions with them. He stared at the blood sodden chair. There, before his very eyes, lay the missing doll, her cloth-covered body drenched in the blood of her creator and her blue button eyes gawking at him, almost as if the doll understood that her journey had come to an end.

Skinner holstered his gun and brought the cell phone back to his ear. "Mulder?"

"I know," his former agent-turned-friend told him. "I know."

* * *

\- Four weeks later -

Scully pushed herself slowly into Mulder's spoon-shaped form. Movement was still a tedious and painful task for her, especially with her wrist still wrapped in a brace and the stitches scattered across her abdomen. They were still taking baby steps towards restoring their intimacy but today they had finally graduated from gentle huddling fully-clad to spooning naked. Mulder had been very reluctant, still treating her as if she were a brittle Chinese ornament but she had had enough of that. She promised him that should she feel the least bit sore or if exhaustion took her over, that she would let him know immediately so they could resume their 'look but do not touch' routine.

"You OK?" he hummed into her ear, tickling her with his brand new fuzzy beard.

A choked chuckle escaped her.

"What?" he mumbled and tickled her some more.

"You're tickling me," she managed through a second choked chuckle.

He moved his head slightly further from her ear. "You don't like the beard?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you didn't say that you liked it, either."

"It's OK."

He didn't respond immediately. She assumed he was somewhat disappointed by her reaction but she didn't see any point in making it any easier for him. "Mulder?"

"What?"

"I'm still getting used to this new look… and feel."

He snorted. "Lucky for you, you were in hospital while my beard was still in its puberty. I doubt you would have enjoyed the itchy, prickly stubble phase."

"Lucky for **_you_** , Mulder" she countered.

He put his head back into her nape and she could feel his smile as the fuzzy bristles moved upwards.

As far as her doctors were concerned, what they were currently doing was basically forbidden land and should have remained as such for the next couple of weeks but she yearned for his embrace, yearned for his touch and she felt that she could trust him and herself to keep her from harm. So far she felt she had been right. It was as if his touch was invigorating her, as if he were a shaman, willing her to heal within his sweat lodge.

Despite him spooning her, he was very apprehensive as to where to put his hand. Usually when spooned his hand would be embracing her, possibly relaxing on her breast. Right now it remained limp along his side and Scully knew he was refraining from moving it any further for fear of passing through her wounds and killing the moment. But she wasn't afraid. In fact, she needed him to touch her traumatized skin because she was still feeling at odds with the whole ordeal that befell her. The final hours felt very hazy to her as she was constantly assaulted by the hidden assailant and for most parts she was unconscious. Thus she wasn't quite sure what had exactly happened. Mulder told her what he saw and she had some vague inkling as to what he was describing to her but it still seemed surreal to say the least. The only things she was sure about were her injuries and the fact that she couldn't recall any actual attacker focalizing on her. She wanted Mulder to touch her stitches. She wanted him to trace her scars. It wasn't logical. It was a strange need; either to force the reality of her ordeal on her or to force the reality of their renewed intimacy. She wasn't quite clear exactly why, but she wanted it. Badly.

She lifted her good arm slowly until she felt his hand. She could feel him shuddering as her hand made contact with his. She felt as if he were a terrified deer, caught in a car's headlight; staring in shock and bewilderment but unable to move a muscle. He stiffened but he remained silent and Scully took this as his consent to her. She gently closed her palm over his and pulled his hand down slowly, taking it for a journey along the devastated land that was her body. She led his fingertips along her scars. His hand was loose within her grip as he let her control the pressure of his touch. His fingers were soft and warm and the delicate tracing of her wounds sent an odd thrilling sensation through her body. She'd dreamt of this moment ever since her bandages were removed. She dreamt of him touching her exposed healing skin, as if the invigoration of it with the touch of his fingers would help accelerate the process. Not that her recovery wasn't considered speedy. In fact, the doctors were amazed by its unusual pace and whenever they mentioned this fact when Mulder was in the room, he kept giving her this odd look, as if trying to push a certain point. She just raised a weary eyebrow back at him forcing him to clamp up and shelf his notions in this regard. There were just too many bizarre items on her plate and she just wasn't ready to address more of the kind.

Finally she laid Mulder's hand on her breast, slowly releasing her hold until his arm now rested across her body, parts of it making contact with her wounds. He was very still, scared of causing havoc. She let out a deliberate audible sigh.

"What's wrong?" he immediately responded, deep concern in his tone.

She paused. Suddenly she realized she was slipping back into her old habit as she found herself contemplating her response to him, calculating just how much she should reveal without causing a ripple in his psyche. She felt revulsion. Her façade was created out of the notion that this was what Mulder needed but now she knew it was a selfish reaction; thinking he'd be better off if he were mollycoddled by her. No. This was never going to work out for Mulder, however mentally scarred he'd been and would be. She sighed again. He had the right to know how she felt and she had the right to express herself and expose herself before him. If she didn't practice this now, there would be no reconciliation. They would grow apart.

"Scully?" Mulder's concern heightened when she remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" confusion added to his concern.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. I was wrong. I did what I did because I thought it would save you. That it would save us. In reality it almost destroyed everything."

"What brought this on?" he wondered aloud.

"I know you are afraid of hurting me, but I would really like you to be… less… passive right now." She didn't respond to his question. Instead she acted upon her resolve.

"Seriously?!"

His incredulous response made her laugh. "Yes. Seriously. I miss you."

"I've never been away, Scully," he told her as his fingers brushed her breast lightly.

"But I was," she told him.

He pushed himself closer to her and despite herself she could feel moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. She drew a breath, ingesting his delicate sweaty scent into her nostrils, knowing this was the essence she wanted to inhale for the rest of her life. Mulder nudged his head further and she gently pushed back, letting his fuzzy beard graze her neck softly. It felt nice.

"I've made up my mind."

"Huh?"

"About your beard."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I think it's nice."

"Coming from you, this means my beard is God's gift to creation."

She snorted.

They lay in comforting silence; Scully let her eyelids droop as she further relaxed into Mulder's form. It was akin to meditation almost; his warmth lulling her into calm and tranquility. She didn't need much more; just his soft embrace and warm breath beside her ear. It was perfect.

"I know it's sort of ironic but in a way I believe we owe this moment to Miranda." Mulder suddenly spoke.

Scully felt herself tense.

"Relax, Scully. It's not that I don't think she was a deranged lunatic. It's just that… she forced us to deal with our issues—"

"You mean forced _me_ to deal with _my_ issue, right?" She interjected.

"Well, you were dealing with _both_ our issues, in a way, when one comes to think of it."

"And I was doing a crappy job at best." She let out, winded.

"Why do you always feel the need to be this super perfect person?"

"I don't know. It's a heavily ingrained trait I guess. It's very hard for me not to be that kind of person." She paused then continued as she moved her hand and grabbed his and absentmindedly massaged it. "Back in the day, just as I'd question your theories, you'd be questioning mine. We were both forcing each other to step out of our comfort zones and to think out our respective boxes. I guess that when I saw how distorted your world had become after you had gotten out of prison, I figured you weren't capable of any sound judgement and I made my own. Right now I'm feeling very foolish about it all."

He gave her a soft peck on the back of her neck that sent warm ripples down her spine. "We are all brilliant when it comes to hindsight, Scully, but despite my many beliefs, I have yet to find a way to change the past, so for now I think I will stick with something we can have an effect on: the future. Specifically, _our_ future."

Scully smiled. Indeed. Right now at this very moment, even though she knew that somehow the darkness will somehow find its way as it always did, at least for now, in this little house of theirs they were finally in the light, no longer hiding in the shadows of the closet.

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **Author's note:**  
>    
>  _This is a first. I just typed the final sentences and I'm filled with tears. I've never written such a long story and I found the notion of ending it very frightening because I was worried that it would leave a major void inside me. I hope I will find a way to write another one soon._
> 
>  
> 
> _Thank you kind readers who left me comments. You have definitely been the drive behind this story and my efforts to push it further. You have been amazing! Thank you so much._
> 
>  
> 
> _And a big thanks to my oldest daughter, Gal, who listened to my endless ramblings about this one. Brave soul that she is *grin* Love ya!_


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